Gaspar Collection
by ZeaLitY
Summary: Gaspar, eternal observer atop the hourglass of the End of Time, is skewed to a strange dimension in a temporal error. Follow him as he makes his way home, encounters familiar faces from the Chrono series, and ultimately confronts life, death, and love.
1. I The Empty Dimension

**Gaspar Chronicle I. The Empty Dimension**

_ZeaLitY_

What was this feeling of disparity that suddenly arose inside the heart of the time traveler? Although he had just observed the destruction of years of intense labor and the death of a dream, he was physically fine; no harm had come to him, and the flashing blue aura in which he passed felt similar to a dip in the warm sea. He had left the destruction behind; strange sensations accompanied his journey, although the premonition of doom pressed on. The glowing portal that devoured him confused his senses; rational thought was not capable, leaving the man to simply enjoy the ride and pray for a safe landing. As his eyes dimmed, he caught little scenes passing by that were engraved in the throbbing auras; a child born; a knight struck down; a palace crumbling in hellfire. What gibberish was this? He could not make sense of it, even though the word 'time' appeared in his mind instantaneously; a fleeting thought that was soon relegated to the back depths of the mind. Ah, the smells of the world – grass, air, smoke – soon gathered around his nostrils; the sounds slowed until individually recognizable, and he once again felt the pressure of the atmosphere soothingly push on his body until equalized. His senses were returning, while a shining hole grew in size from the infinite curvature of space he directed his vision to.  
The gate materialized, employing countless theories to be developed a few hundred years from the present, and instantly dispensing them to realize the once-thought of as impossible concept of time travel. A figure was fleshed out from the maw; slowly, his clothes took color, mirroring the life entering the man. As soon as it had opened, the gate retracted into the nether regions of space-time, leaving an elderly, exquisitely dressed man lying on the ground, unconscious and with his hands over his heart. Safe from the dangers of time travel, the uncomfortable feeling he had when the gate appeared lingered on within. Something was subtly different; although his lungs were in excellent condition and able to tackle any kind of polluted air (thanks to the high elevation at which they developed), a black presence came with every breath. Perhaps unfortunately, he would not retain his conscious state for a few days, and even such a small amount of time was vastly important in this line...  
  
Two days passed.  
  
Far away, and unspeakably higher, a couple among many rested at a table on which sat two cups of steaming coffee and a book entitled "Ripples on the Water: The Poetry of King Guardia X." Fashionable and 'new-age' according to their society's standards, the man and woman sipped from the coffee and gazed out of the window, revealing a stretching cityscape encased in a large glass dome. The view – as they would attest – was spectacular from the café high atop Medina Co.'s headquarters.  
Compared to its surroundings, the book of verse seemed antiquated and dusty, although it was recently printed in AD 1996. The contents, however, were considered even more ancient, for the kings of Guardia had long since been relegated to the back pages of history books, buried by the achievements of Porre, which assigned itself the prominence of the name "Central Regime" soon after it began demanding tribute money and taxes in the late fourteenth century. Although the Guardian lineage somehow survived, living pathetically through the ages, the Central Regime maintained its intimidating over all states, including Medina. The man cracked open the book, sending the couple hundreds of years earlier.  
  
"Mitsurugi," the woman asked. "Why such an old collection? I thought you hated that really early stuff.  
"The Romantics were beginning to bloom then; it's interesting to see knightly principles evolve."   
"Ah...well, you might as well read some of it to me. Hard to believe love existed at all back then..."  
"But Fiona, the freezes were over. It was as spring..."  
"Don't start, just read the book."  
"Haha, all right. Hm... 'Eyes of Night." This one looks good."  
  
On my way to the garden, a stroll in the cool eve,  
I turned upward to sky, while thinking of thee,  
And beheld: Thy eyes are like the boundless night;  
Black, pure, untouched by rays of light,  
And dashing in beauty. What glorious sight,  
To awe at thy raven eyes in sleepless night.  
  
"Rather amazing, isn't it Fiona? To think the people of Guardia enjoyed a spotless night of black sky. Nowadays, the auroras streak heavily."   
"Yeah, I wish they could figure those out. The Central Regime should really fire a rocket up there or something; you know, try to break out of this world."  
"Don't entertain such thoughts of heresy! You've heard the legends, and you know of the Helios incident. Anything that even touches the region a few miles above is instantly destroyed."  
"Yeah, but it's...so boring to think we're confined to this crappy little place."  
"Bah, don't sweat it. Speaking of which, the weather report is finally on."   
  
Accidentally interrupting the broadcast of the weather, Mitsurugi soon quieted down and stared at the monitor over the bar.  
  
"...And unfortunately for all you churchgoers, a series of lightning storms is forecasted tonight for the area between Shrine and San Dorino, which may force the Tour of Life to come to a screeching halt. Zenan Bridge looks to be in good condition; the sea is also quiet lately with a temporary decrease in vortex disturbances. On a side note, aurora activity will be hitting a peak tonight, and not surprisingly over the transport system between Shrine and San Dorino. Spectators are advised to stay away, due to the possibility of lightning. That's all for the weather; Fleador, back to you and the uproar concerning the Central Regime's new claims to area of sea circled almost completely by jagged rocks, whose tentative name is 'El Nido."  
  
"Damn! More electric storms. When will it ever end?" Mitsurugi complained.   
"Hey, don't worry about it. We should be able to take a ferry up to New Truce, anyway."  
"Yeah, but I always like going through Desert Shrine, San Dorino, and over Zenan Bridge. Shrine is a fun little oasis in the middle of nowhere."   
"Eh, forget it. You don't want to be caught in those storms; I heard yesterday that the Heckran Mountain Dome was without power for a long time. They seem to be increasing in strength."  
"Bah. Well, I'll meet you in New Truce, but I'm going to take the mass transit system, regardless of any stupid lightning storm. I might even get to see the aurora."  
"Hey, your choice. I'm going by sea. I think the Truce/Medina system is cutting prices anyway."   
"Yeah, it's amazing they even exist. Mystics used to hate humans until the fifteen hundreds."  
"Well, anyway, I'll seeya."  
"Ok, have fun, and see you in Truce."  
  
The two arose from the table and sauntered to the elevator, which promptly transferred them to the ground floor. From there, Fiona headed north to the ferry station, while Mitsurugi boarded the transit car leaving for eastern Zenan. A work of modern wonder, it had the capacity to stretch across the sea lying between Zenan and the continent of Medina, while seamlessly transporting passengers. Considered the long, scenic route from Medina to New Truce, it was nonetheless popular. The alternative, the Truce/Medina ferry, was born out of spite and greed, and these properties were inherent in its running. Nonetheless, these things did not bother Fiona, who happily boarded the nearest vessel, settled down in a comfortable chair, and began reading this month's copy of Tech Weekly. Looking up as the ferry began moving, she noticed a bulky humanoid robot make his way to the rear of the passenger area, and occupy two seats. Excited by the appearance of a piece of blooming technology, Fiona turned around and began conversing.  
  
"Hey, shouldn't you be on some type of transport? You're a robot!" she exclaimed.  
"Forgive me madam, but I am R-66Y, assigned to assist humans."  
"Oh, so you're jumping right in to the human world! How nice. You headed to Truce too?"  
"Yes, miss. My destination is the Arris Dome."  
"Oh!"  
  
The word instantly triggered caution. Although Guardia was formally defeated ca. AD 1005, loyalists continued to run an establishment where the castle once stood. Having survived through the ages, the current reincarnation of Guardia was the Arris Dome, funded by money from shipping. Although hardly the technological equivalent of the Central Regime's domes, the Arris Dome was a testament to human ingenuity and will to live. It was also rumored to hold a holy sword – called 'Masamune' – far underground; there was no validity to this, however, as the last recorded observation of the Masamune had been in AD 634 when an aging, odd knight blessed the fresh grave of the great explorer Toma.  
She nodded and quickly turned back to her magazine, an observation duly noted by R-66Y. The ocean was unusually calm; lately, the intensifying storms had pushed large waves that threatened certain inland areas. The air ahead was dark; however, the magazine was much more interesting to contemplate. A new type of racer had been released, and competitions were already underway for prizes and product testing, since another corporation's line of tricycle robots were slated to reach higher speeds. It would be a heated battle, considering—Jolt! The ferry was rocked by turbulence. Frantic passengers rose and were knocked to the floor as a panicky voice blared over the intercom.  
  
"Please, everyone remain calm. Due to sudden violent weather we are rerouting inland and shall reach San Dorino at 5pm. We apologize for any inconveniences; after the storm abates we shall resume our main course."  
  
The ferry groaned as it struggled to turn inward amidst the tempest that had instantaneously formed. It was at once struck by lightning; fortunately, ferries had long become resistant. Fiona, grabbing her seat, refused to look outside into the storm; rather, she closed her eyes and waited for safety. Eventually, the ferry was able to reach San Dorino. Most passengers shouted loudly as they left the ferry, citing the system's unreliability and the oddity of the storm's condition. Fiona, still reeling from fear, was merely glad to be alive as she planned her next move, eventually settling upon waiting at the transit station for Mitsurugi. The wait would be numbingly long, however; thus, she decided to take a walk in the city's lovely expanse of park. Although it was mostly sunny in the old town, named after an ancient hero, the forecasted lightning storms hung in to the south over Shrine, while the disturbance that blew the ferry inward remained over the horizon of the sea. Fiona tried to push these out of her mind as she strolled through the verdant recreational greenery, taking interest instead in the many nature-lovers lying about the grass reading books or simply staring into the azure sky, tainted by light orange rays – the first sign of the impending sunset. Why then was the ground red in this spot – 'oh my – It is! An old man in ornate red clothing is passed out behind a tree over there!' Fiona hurried to the man's side, attempting to roll him over. With a large, unsettling groan, the old sage sat up, rubbing his head and opening his tired eyes.  
  
"I say...where am I?" he mumbled.  
"Sir, are you okay? What happened?"  
"What? Who? I...ahh..."   
"Amnesia? We need to get you to a hospital!"  
"No no, that's quite all right. Things are returning to me. This happens sometimes when time traveling goes roughly."  
"What? Are you delusional?"  
"...but what am I doing in this era? This is...oh?"  
  
Suddenly, Gaspar's eyes widened as full knowledge of his experiences came to him.  
  
"Young woman! What year is this?"   
"You don't know?"  
"Please, just tell me!"  
"It's March 14th, 1999! Don't you know—"  
"Great Scott! Do you know what this means?"  
  
Paradoxical images came to Gaspar's mind. A Victorian platform, set against nothing; a disaster in an ancient kingdom of magic; the construction of a device that could allow passage through time—  
  
"Something must have gone terribly wrong! Young woman—"  
"Please, call me Fiona—"  
"Yes—Fiona, does a large forest exist in central Zenan?"  
"Of course! I'm named after the daring woman who revived it in the seventh century."  
"Ah, then – well, perhaps we have nothing to worry. May I inquire the location of the nearest library?"  
"Are you sure you're all right? We need to get you to a psychologist—"  
"Oh, I'm merely out of time, bright one. Come! I must go."  
  
Desiring to object but held back by her intrigue of the odd man, Fiona led Gaspar to the nearest library, a stone palace whose front was supported by mountainous columns. Upon entering, Gaspar walked briskly to the history department, scooping up an armful of books and laying them out on a spacious table. Beginning with the first, Gaspar perused through the volumes while Fiona sat near, wondering what he could be doing. The wait eventually became unbearable; she spoke.   
  
"So...who are you?"  
"Ah!" Gaspar stopped reading. "I thought you'd never ask. Now, I don't expect you to understand all of this, but I will attempt to explain. You see, I am a guru of the magical kingdom of Zeal, which was obliterated in 12,000 B.C. by the mighty Lavos! Shortly before this occurred, I was detained by a prophet who was actually a prince of the kingdom – but that is another story. At the time of the disaster, I was sent through time to the weakest point in the spacetime continuum – I call it the 'End of Time' – and from here, I guided young adventurers through several gates that had mysteriously formed as a reaction to Lavos's destruction of the planet. However, it seems that something awry has occurred; while naturally I should have come to the End of Time, my temporal vector has been skewed and has resulted in my appearance in this era. Of course, I retain all knowledge otherwise, as time travelers are excused from the Recollection clause, as dictated by an engineer in Zeal after experiments on the subject. It reads:  
  
If a certain time, X, is altered to become a new time, X', due to new events in a prior time, Y, where Y X, every person in time X' will have no recollection of time X or that time X ever existed. This rule applies to everyone in time X when the change occurs, including time travelers who happen to be at time X.  
  
Of course, I am the time traveler in this case; thus, my knowledge is retained. It seems by some subtle action by Crono, the gate that originally took me to the End of Time in 12,000 B.C. has spat me out here. I can't object, however. Considering all the improvements in technology and health, I may be able to do some wondrous things."   
  
Fiona's eyes were glazed over. She was silent for a few seconds, and then uttered an acknowledgement. Gaspar continued looking at her with a twinkle in his eye, feeling a certain sense of happiness he had not experienced since Zeal. Glancing behind her to several large windows, he noticed it had grown dark outside. His stomach, taking cues from the sun's setting, began to rumble. He promptly shut the book and inquired of a good place to eat. The rest of the night came joyously; Gaspar loved sampling the future life, and sought out many centers of culture. Quite the hip old guy, he was welcomed among revelers in clubs. Fiona initially stood a few feet away from Gaspar as he talked around, but she eventually joined him. The venture ended with the couple retiring to the ferry port's hostel, but not until Gaspar checked out a collection of books to study. While walking back he made a startling observation – a spinning vortex in the sky to the south.  
  
"Fiona! Look!" he pointed towards the light show.  
"What? Oh, that's just a storm. Nothing to worry about; they happen all the time."  
"That is no storm! Behold the surges of lightning and beams of light!"  
"Yeah, what about them?"  
"This is normal? What is going on?"  
"Didn't you have thunderstorms in your ... time or whatever?"  
"Yes, but not like that! That's...that disturbance is extremely unnerving! Come, let's go. Is it headed our way?"  
"Yeah, but not until tomorrow. I have a friend who...who is coming into Truce tomorrow. He's probably going through that right now."   
  
Gaspar noticed her stop at the mention of this friend; his heart sank a little, but he continued to implicitly deny any strange emotions towards Fiona. They continued walking, with little else to say; upon reaching her hostel room, Gaspar stepped out onto the short balcony and stared into the far distance. The electrical storm seemed unreal and unnatural, similar to something Gaspar couldn't quite place. The sky was now dark, allowing one to see the full luminosity of San Dorino's city lights. _There is something wrong with this picture,_ Gaspar knew. However, his thoughts could no longer deviate away from their natural course. _Fiona...I have not loved or fallen in love since my young years in Zeal. My life has followed narrowly science, particular the physics of time and space. Zeal was perfect...there was no need for a binding, close love, as all the needs of the soul were satiated by our pristine residency in the clouds. There were no odd predicaments or oppression to cause lovers to, as victims, stay together. I could not thus bring myself to quest for love. It was not my duty, nor purpose in the heavens. Yet...often did I question why. I shoved love out of my mental repository, labeling it as an illogical thing that did not concern me. Yet...yes... I wondered why or how it came about, and if such a thing is natural. I suppose it is, answering those inquiries long ago, a natural thing, as I'm undoubtedly having these wonderful and indescribable feelings for Fiona. It is not unlike the sensations I receive while caught up in some great exploit in time. All these sounds and colors without names...I am an old man, however. Is that a strength, or a vice? Is there something to be had in blind, young, and rash (and often resulting in failure) love, or would it be better to have wisdom and forge a relationship that lacks that vigor, but nonetheless comes from experience? Oh, where has my time gone? I remember resting on cliffs in Zeal in my earlier years, on impeccably fresh grass, staring at the stars—Oh my—_ And thus, Gaspar's thought pattern was broken, perhaps never to be re-established in that frame. He had at last noticed the key feature of the reality he was now in—  
  
"Fiona! There are no stars!"  
"What?"  
"Come here! Look at the sky! It's totally black!"  
"What are you talking about?"  
"Stars! Look! There are none! Can't you see, there are no stars!"  
"Would you stop yelling? What the HELL are stars!?"  
"Stars! Stars! Stars—"  
  
The realization came slowly, but would soon utterly engulf Gaspar and mire him in despair. It was a culmination of worries; Gaspar began pacing about.  
  
"No, no, but history checked out. But wait! That must what be that electrical storm is. No, it can't be. Gates cannot perform that sort of travel! What if someone was somehow in the process of rewriting time as it occurred—"  
"Gaspar? What are you saying? What's wrong?"  
"No, no, no, the changes should have been instantaneous; I retain my knowledge and end up at the same space – but perhaps those temporal energies at the Ocean Palace caused this – no, no, for I was preserved arbitrarily the second time through; what, then, happened? No, no..."  
"Listen! Whatever it is, stop! Stop it, Gaspar!"  
"No! Do you realize what this is? Do you know what the space we're occupying could be?"   
"What?"  
"Tell me! Did you ever hear of a great hero called Crono?"  
"Uhh, no?"  
"What!? What about Robo?"  
"Of course! He helped restore the forest!"  
"Confirmed! I know exactly what this is! I know what that storm is, why there are no stars in the sky, and what's going to happen! No, no..."   
  
Gaspar sunk back into denial as he hurriedly made for the door, but he was temporarily stunned when a sonic assault tore through his ears. Fiona cursed that the storm had come prematurely; the Guru of Time continued to run. He ignored Fiona's shouts that she would not follow him, and continued out into the street, where he looked high to the dome of San Dorino. Making contact in a thousand points on its surface were incredibly fast bolts of lightning, which sent roars of thunder throughout the city. He shook himself from this display and entered the library, perusing books until settling on a controversial and entirely theoretical volume on dimensional mechanics. The reading would have been impossible with the sounds; fortunately, the library was equipped with elaborate sound proofing technology specifically designed for these storms. The sage buried himself in the book until he was disturbed by a hand –  
  
"Fiona!"   
"Tell me! What's wrong? What's going on? Why are you behaving so strangely?"  
"I can't. No. It is too much. I cannot tell—"  
  
Fiona grabbed his collar.  
  
"Tell me. Please...please, Gaspar."  
  
Meeting her eyes, Gaspar could not refuse.  
  
"Please, try to understand..." Gaspar held up one finger. "Did you see that? Now, what if a separate reality existed in which I held up my other finger? Do you know that such things exist? You see, there are thousands of possible worlds, called dimensions, in which things are possibly different. These come about by changing time, but are generally all a matter of possibility. How then can we even begin to think about these? Everything is stabilized by the viewpoint of the observer. To us, this is the only world, and it's the only one we need concern ourselves with. However, this world is the product of the changing of another!  
"When I instructed my young travelers to destroy the parasite Lavos, they also set many things in time right that were once wrong, such as the demeanor of the mayor of Porre and the desert of mid-Zenan. These events were meant to empower the party. This is how I made the conclusion about this reality we're in that I'm getting to.  
"Now, my travelers made changes that directly got in the way of some of my own history! You see, I was to have come to the End of Time via a disaster at the Ocean Palace, yet the circumstances were different the second time around! I was supposed to have reappeared at the End of Time, but somehow the gate meant to take me there has sent me to this skewed dimension.  
"This world – this reality – is the result of a few changes made by Crono and my other time travelers, and yet, some things they were have supposed to done are not present here! These events are also chronologically flawed – you see, Crono restored the forest after being honored and preserved in Guardian history for his exploits in the Mystic War, but as you know, Crono hasn't been heard of in several centuries! Thus, this leads me to conclude that this dimension is inherently flawed and incomplete – a damaged and flawed possibility of worlds, a pure anomaly – and that it resides in the Darkness Beyond Time, where most of these lame realities end up. That is why there are no stars, for this world is corrupted somehow; perhaps dark matter in space prevents their light, or the atmosphere blocks them somehow. I would lend a guess that the Sun is able to circumvent this, but nonetheless, it was the sure sign to me that this world is one of disorder.  
"Thus, according to my calculations, tomorrow at 1:21 PM, Lavos is going to erupt! However, this is not going to be any normal eruption. These physics are beyond me, but this world is connected to the others in various ways. Do you know what those storms are that you've seen increase as the time nears tomorrow? Those are phenomena known as time storms! Relative disturbances in the time space continuum cause those, and they are a warning that something is terribly wrong! When Lavos erupts, I postulate that this world's going to be discarded at last – denied any further existence – and will violently separate itself and fragment explosively into nothingness! That is why...that is why we must find some way out of this dimension!"  
  
Gaspar here ceased to speak, fumbling around with a back pocket in his ornate robe. He removed a small organic object – a very odd-looking egg, and stared at it. Fiona – amazingly, through hard determination – began to understand what Gaspar spoke of. Suddenly, many things lost purpose to her, for the very world in which she lived had been revealed as something corrupt and to be discarded the next day. All her friends were now nothing; her fate solely rested in the hands of an old man who she had just met that day. Her mind did not accept this turn of events passively, however.  
  
"No, you can't be serious. This is all..." she started.  
"Yes, this is going to be nothingness soon. It is a fragment of the truth, a shadow of another world. Dimensional mechanics are bane to the human mental capacity for understanding abstract concepts, but I know enough to foresee the destruction. Even if this dimension does not violently unravel, the world will be totaled by Lavos. We must escape, Fiona."  
"But...how? How do you visit other worlds? Physically? I can't even begin to think—"   
"I know. Don't try. It seems that time has given me one advantage; you see, when I was transported to the End of Time in both instances, I had with me a Time Egg that I had been working on. It's this." Gaspar held up the Egg. "This is the Time Egg. Since I was meant to finish work on this at the End of Time and later give it to Crono's party, it is in incomplete form; however, I believe that enough may be here to save us. Time Eggs are capable of creating portals in time and space; while my applications were initially only meant for time travel, I believe that with enough energy the Time Egg can also cycle one through dimensions.  
Tomorrow, when Lavos erupts, we'll have more than enough energy present to undertake a jump through worlds. I have to modify a few things on the Egg, but that won't take much. Unfortunately, we're going to need some method of nearing close proximity with Lavos."  
"I can get us a transport! No problem, there's a rental service in town."  
"That will be sufficient. Once we get near Lavos, I shall explode the Egg to create the most fantastic and large gate possible; this will provide the most time for our departure. It will be dangerous – yes, but I have confidence that we can safely escape before the time disruptions coupled with Lavos's destruction become unbearable. We are going to observe chilling sights when this occurs – people will vanish and die as reality tears apart. Remain determined. We've got to make it out. Where the gate will take us, I do not know; speaking roughly from my technical knowledge, I believe I can alter the Time Egg to create odds in our favor for our transportation to the End of Time. It would be the optimum destination, as it is my home and vantage point over space-time."  
"Gaspar..." she trailed off.  
"Yes?"  
"Gaspar, you know that I have no true concept of who you are, the past from whence you came, or how you know the things you know. But...I believe you, Gaspar. In your eyes, I know you are true...you wouldn't lie, especially not to me. It's so absurd. There's nothing real for me to believe in. Yet I know...Gaspar, I trust you. We will make it out...We will..."  
"Yes. Fiona, we will..."   
  
The two, at first awkwardly, drew near each other, and soon embraced. Herein lied potential. One may say that love was born, and lifetimes of it passed in that short space of time. Whether tomorrow's objective was complete, it was now a fact that love existed. This was everything to the two presently – although the pressing matter could not be ignored, they both knew something much more valuable and timeless had been formed between them.  
  
"Now, there is work to do. Fiona, it is late, but cannot you secure the transport even at this hour?"   
"Yes. I'll go."  
"All right. See if you can't obtain some working tools while you're out; although formation of Time Eggs is largely based on magic, I will need to alter the Egg's physical form minutely, and this will require precise utensils."  
"Do not worry. I'll find everything you could hope for."  
  
The storm intensified, and cracks of thunder penetrated the library's soundproofed walls.  
  
"Good! Hurry, before this tempest becomes even stronger. Meet me back at the hostel. I'm going to spend all night working; I ask that you please get rest after those errands."  
"But...Yes. Rest."  
"Good luck, Fiona. Now, we must hurry!"  
  
Two figures instantly burst from the library and ran in opposite directions on the street. Fiona quickly boarded a mass transit system suffering several brownouts of power due to the storm, while Gaspar stumbled to the hostel, struggling to ignore the swirling storm of electricity that hung over the dome. Upon entering the room, he cleared the dining table and set the Time Egg in the center. Mumbling old, long-recited incantations, he created a sort of magical aura that the Egg rested in. The mute background was lit with countless colors and Gaspar began working on the Time Egg through magic. Fiona meanwhile signed a number of papers to rent a transport; the chosen air chariot bore a resemblance to the creation of one of Gaspar's peers. Upon securing the deal, Fiona got in and sped to a hardware compendium, expending all funds on her credit chit to secure the widest range of small tools available. Gaspar broke a sweat back at the hostel; his hands became tired from concentrating in a variety of gestures. The Time Egg continued to flare in color, but the spectacle was gradually reducing. He desperately needed the tools to undertake physical alterations that would allow more magical work. This was also the prime worry of Fiona, who broke speed limits in rushing back to the hostel on her transport. Many citizens of San Dorino had stopped traveling in the event of the storm; this made her journey somewhat easier. The storm unleashed a pummel of bolts on the dome, causing severe power surges and blackouts. It had reaches record-breaking status, also confirming Gaspar's supposition – this disturbance was most certainly a time storm, forecasting the soon-to-be at hand destruction of this world. Fiona disregarded it as best she could, and landed on the hostel roof. She hastily met Gaspar, giving him the tools and afterwards turning on the televiewer to San Dorino's foremost local station. Advisories flashed on the screen.  
  
"Warning. Level 5 storm in progress. Please refrain from travel and wait until further notice. If dome break should occur, please take cover in place of residence or move to designated storm shelters."  
  
"Gaspar – is that all you would have me do?" Fiona asked.  
"Yes, yes," he said, wiping his brow. "Quickly, get some rest. Look at that screen – more storms are brewing. How's the transport?"   
"It's the best that money can buy."   
"Good. Just get some sleep."   
"Gaspar...We'll make it."  
"Yes, we will."  
  
Fiona retired to the other room; however, the full weight of the matters soon to come pressed her mind. She could not easily rest, and lay awake several minutes. Gaspar meanwhile looked into his reasoning as he modified the Time Egg. _I must consider that the End of Time is not free from time, yet it is somewhat a representation or symbol of time spatially. Now, I know from theory that dimensions are often linked to form a chain – if one rewrites time, a sort of wormhole-potential spot would remain where the rewrite occurred; I also hold that these spots would exist inherent in the matter. Thus, a spot would not be left behind on a certain beach even though the planet moved far away from that spot's true position in a coordinate plane of space time. After researching the events of this world, I believe everything is focused on Lavos – that somehow, his emanations and repercussions and perhaps the very events of Crono himself that are linked to Lavos are responsible for this bastard world. Thus, it is true that if I undertake the wormhole in close proximity to Lavos at the moment he erupts and is possibly engulfed or defeat by some incomplete manifestation of Crono, I will be allowed dimensional travel. Hmm...next on the agenda is whether the End of Time is unidimensional or exists in all worlds separately. I am inclined to believe that each dimension has its own End of Time...wouldn't this cause many problems? I could end up in an End of Time with another Gaspar! Yet...the 'Missing Piece' hypothesis may be my saving grace. It proposes that in the event of an item's removal from a particular dimension, that item will suffer stress and be pressured to return to that dimension in its rightful place – almost a tug across worlds, so to speak. Thus, if I enter the gate, I shall inevitably be pulled to the right world, as it shall yearn to fill in what it has lost. I know from first-hand experiences that if Fiona is also in physical contact with me, or if that we are together in an energy transport orb of some kind, she will come along...Amazing. What a task this is to perceive and understand wholly. I wonder if I am the only one to get this far, or if some group of scholars somewhere is struggling to make sense of timelines and dimensions as well. All right...It is finished. This Time Egg, supplied with energy from Lavos's disruptions of time, shall create a sort of open gate to other worlds. Once I position myself within the gate, with Fiona maintaining physical contact with me, the pull across dimensions of my world to replace its lost piece shall act and route the gate to my home world. In addition, the coordinates I have set into the Time Egg should also invariably result in our arrival at the End of Time. Dimensions. What a headache...I pray this shall work._ Gaspar, at last, finished his mental dialogue and made the final few structural changes to the Time Egg. The resulting creation did not resemble a normal Time Egg; the body of the device had several receptacles on it that would eventually be used to absorb forms of anti-annihilation energy that would perpetuate from the destruction of the world and Lavos's temporal disruptions. Gaspar beheld his creation, and felt a flutter in his heart. Time would tell if his work was true, and if he was worth his salt as the Guru of Time.  
  
The storm had partly subsided, but its remnant remained stationary over the San Dorino Dome. Beyond it in the sky, auroras ran rampant – another odd trait of the incomplete dimension. Gaspar could only stare in wonder from the main quarters window as he contemplated his present fate. He somewhat believed that life had a way of throwing one into situations to expressly provide experience in some area; in this case, he would have been placed here to learn love, he thought. However, because he had recognized this, could not he now safely escape? Was there something else to learn? These thoughts were tainted with ominous feelings that swarmed his heart. Worrying was for naught, however – Gaspar soon lay asleep with his hands over his heart.  
  
A few hours passed.   
  
The sun soon rose, creating a chilling contrast between its morning rays and the lingering time storm. Gaspar noted this as he woke around noon and ordered a light lunch from room service; he never undertook anything of importance without eating first. His sleep had been intermittent and unfulfilling – one could not blame him, considering the worries that now gathered around his head. The filtering ways woke Fiona as well; she groggily readied herself for the day and met Gaspar in the kitchen. Their eyes told all – for the events of that day came to Fiona as soon as she woke. She no longer partly refused to believe that any of this was happening, and confided wholly in the old guru.   
  
"We're going to do it, right?" she asked.  
"Oh, good morning, Fiona. Yes, today's the day."  
"So...you have an idea yet?"  
"Of the plan? Well, before Lavos erupts, geothermal activity is going to skyrocket. This will help pinpoint his location, giving us the chance to reach the site with time to spare. There will be enough time disruptions to generate sufficient energy for the operation; the Egg will absorb this energy and shall stimulate a point in space time to create a gate. Once inside, never let go of me. There is an infinity of other worlds, but I am distinctly missing from the one I came from. Thus, once inside, the gate will involuntarily pull me to this dimension – and you, if you hold on to me."  
"Brilliant!"  
"But something's bothering me, Fiona. Is there anything you are leaving behind here? Something you wish to take along?"  
"No—I—we must leave here as soon as possible. Don't worry. Everything I want to keep is here," she said, pointing to her head.  
  
She then remembered her flippant boyfriend, Mitsurugi. He had probably perished on the transit system through shrine. He could be forgotten.   
  
"Good. Before we go, I want to collect as much information on this world as possible. Do perfect compendiums of history exist yet at this time?"  
"I don't know what you're talking about, but I do know there is a data vault in this city. Data vaults contain huge amounts of information."  
"How might I get it?"   
"Oh, data vaults are still huge. You could probably only download certain information to portable data cubes."   
"Let's go then. We have until 1:21, and it's 12:30. Keep that transceiver tuned to the frequency I've set it on. It's a service line for the World Disaster Service. Once the initial earthquakes occur, we'll hear about their location on that information line."  
"Ingenious, Gaspar. All right."  
  
The couple walked to the rented transport; Gaspar could not help but recognize a design similar to Belthasar's Epoch. The trip to San Dorino's data vault was somewhat drawn out, as it rested on the outskirts of the dome. Tension mounted in the form of a light sweat that pursued Gaspar each time he looked at his watch. Nothing could stop the trip – it had to work. The two soon landed at the data repository and entered the data cube dispensing facility. Here Gaspar perused a visual interface for certain scientific information and observation; locating what he desired, he downloaded it to a cube. 12:45. They exited the center, but not before a visitor caught sight of them and gave chase.  
  
"Hey! Fiona! I've been looking for you – wait, who is this man?" the stranger asked.  
"Mitsu...rugi? What are you doing here? I thought you took the transit—"  
"I did! How do you think I got here? Fiona, who is this old man!? Why are you with him?"  
"Excuse me, young man," Gaspar began.  
"Shut up! What has he done to you, Fiona?"  
"Mitsurugi, behave yourself! You don't have any idea what's going to happen—"   
"I've heard of people like you, brainwashing young women and taking them away. Fiona's mine!"   
  
Fiona and Mitsurugi continued to argue, spurring on for the next ten minutes. 12:55. Gaspar became mired in despair after discovering Fiona had a boyfriend, but forced himself to intervene.  
  
"Fiona, it is almost 1. In approximately twenty minutes, the world is going to cease to exist! We've got to get ready."  
"You crazy old geezer!"  
"Young man, look at this storms on the horizon. Note their size. They spell doom for this entire planet."  
"I don't know what the hell you're talking about!"  
"Mitsurugi, why are you so damned belligerent? What has gotten into you?"  
"You are running around with some old coot while I nearly die on the transit system through shrine! That's what's wrong with me!"   
"Have you listened to this man? Mitsurugi, something's about to occur that will destroy the entire world—"   
"Shut up with your nonsense! I don't know what apocalyptic cult this guy is from or why you joined it, but I have to get you away from him!"  
  
Gaspar had had enough; he withdrew a cane from his Zealian robe and extended it to reveal a formidable weapon. Utilizing mandatory self-defense training, he quieted Mitsurugi with a gentle but effective blow to the head. The enraged man lay on the ground, unconscious.  
  
"Fiona. It is 1. We have to go now."  
"Yes – but we can't leave him behind!"  
"This man nearly prevented you from being saved. I don't know what relevance he has to your life, but he is of no importance to this operation."   
"We can't..."  
"Fiona, you are admirable for your caring instincts – something to be desired – but you must think! By adding another person, we put further strain on the gate and time mechanics in general. Leave it. He is a headache to us."  
"...Gaspar, please. He's just a friend..."  
  
This caught the old guru by surprise.  
  
"Fine. If it pleases you...load him in the transport. Hopefully he comes to when Lavos erupts."  
"Thank you, Gaspar. We have to get outside the dome. It may take awhile to get through customs; let's go."  
  
The transport slowly hovered off the ground and flew to the very outside edge of the dome. It entered in a long line of other cars at 1:10. Far underground, a titanic mass of molten magma was shifting to make way for a lumpy being's path; it caused minor disturbances worldwide in the form of small volcanic releases. Near Medina, a small sparkle appeared on a desolate stretch of land. All was slowly becoming red; the air's temperature increased, as did the ground's. As bubbly lava began to ooze on this plot, Gaspar at last received clearance to leave the dome. The time was now 1:18; beads of sweat hung on every pore of his body. Fiona maintained a stone gaze at the sky. In every direction, storms were forming and ravaging the land beneath; the transport and San Dorino dome seemed to be in the only clearing. 1:20. The minute was at hand.  
  
"Fiona, it may be necessary to brace for impact. I'm not sure how deep the effects of Lavos's eruptions will penetrate the state of the world. Hold fast to the transport."  
"I will—" and they took each other's hand.  
  
And it happened. At 1:21, the plains below the Heckran Mountain dome exploded effortlessly as lava sprayed high into the air. All across the atmosphere, time storms suddenly burned brightly with new vigor and began electrifying anything in reach. It could be felt – a sense of uncertainty, a feeling of rending – by all; it seemed as if something inside was being pulled apart of the body. The open circle of air directly above the transport and San Dorino was instantaneously closed up by the blinding speed of clouds extending from the surrounding storms. The sun was blotted out – all became dark. Frantic messages came over the radio –  
  
"Alert! Rating G earthquake detected with epicenter south of Heckran Mountain! Significant rupture in planet's crust! Oh, no – warning! Storms forming over all major cities – type E! Local stations, get warnings out to everyone—"  
  
The information had been given. Fiona put the transport into its highest gear and the couple sped off towards the continent of Medina. Before the trip, she had prepared it with a racing blend of fuels and had stored an energy shield generator. Thus, the time storms were less of a problem that had been expected; however, different disruptions had manifested. Points of distortion dotted the storms' interior, altering the appearance of reality around them and causing eerie whining sounds. Gaspar began to shout.  
  
"You feel it Fiona?"  
"Yes! It feels like my body is being ripped apart—"  
"It is! Time itself in this world is slowly fragmenting, and will soon begin to disintegrate at an exponential rate!"  
"We're going to get there soon!"  
"All right, Fiona, get ready!"  
  
The storms became larger as the two neared their target. After coming close, they viewed an unbelievable sight. In the center of the violent tempest, a large mass of fire shot spires high into the air – some of which came down, raining destruction, while others vanished, apparently being phased out of existence. Below him, seven ghostly personages appeared and began seemingly fighting. _It is them,_ Gaspar thought. _Crono's party. They don't even exist here, but yet they are seen. Thus, this is truly where the dimensions intertwine..._Encircling Lavos was a rotating funnel cloud of fire, lightning, and rain mixed together. Shockwaves of dimensional distortions cast quickly moving black shadows. The sensation of being torn increased for Gaspar and Fiona as they neared the maelstrom.   
  
"Gaspar! Are we ready?" she cried.   
"Yes!"  
  
He took out the Egg from its case and pressed a button on the exterior, causing the Time Egg to shimmer. Reality distorted around the receptacles, which had already begun taking in anti-annihilation energy from the tearing of the fabric of time by Lavos and the unstable dimension. Soon, the Egg gleamed pure white; knowing the sign, Gaspar held it back and, with every ounce of force he could muster, threw it in Lavos's direction. Encountering a wave of distortion, the Egg suddenly exploded – the fragments, however, did not fly to the ground but began rotating in an increasingly wider circle. They became a blur, and the area of the circle became blue. It was done, although the gate was not large enough to accommodate a transport. The couple flew it in as close as possible. Mitsurugi began to wake.  
  
"All right; come on, Fiona! We must jump into it!"  
"Gaspar! Mitsurugi!"  
"Forget it! Come on! The gate's going to close soon!"  
"Hey, old man, what the hell is going on? Release me! What is this?" Mitsurugi began.  
  
As soon as he began shout at Gaspar, however, Mitsurugi and part of the transport were instantly vaporized by one of Lavos's exploding spires.  
  
"Come on!" Gaspar shouted.  
  
Fiona grabbed his hand, and Gaspar stepped in. However, the gate instantly took hold of him; the effect did not have a chance to apply to Fiona, as she was only partially within the gate. She stumbled over and fell on the hull of the transport as she realized what had happened. She stared upward at Gaspar, who, no longer possessing the ability to physical exist in the incomplete dimension, could only worriedly look on her from within the gate. With tears in her eyes, she remained frozen. Gaspar began shouting at length and struggled to leave the gate; better he should die with the only woman he had ever loved than continue in the End of Time. However, he was unable to exit. The gate began closing on him...  
  
"Fiona..."   
"Gaspar. I..."  
"Fiona, I'll come for you..."  
"...love..."   
"Yes...I'll find..."  
"you," they said simultaneously.  
  
The gate closed, and the incomplete dimension was instantly denied existence and eternally erased from Gaspar's sense of reality. The druggy effects of time travel set on, but Gaspar disregarded them. He could only sense depression and death in his heart, for he knew the truth – and judging from the look in Fiona's eyes as she passed from his view, she knew as well. It was an incomplete dimension; the product of mere chance, it could probably never be accessed again by any. No matter what world Gaspar might be able to enter, he would not encounter the same Fiona. She was forever lost in the void of nothingness. Gaspar entered a similar state...A gate materialized on the far side of the End of Time platform, and Gaspar stepped out reluctantly. The gate began to shine red, and soon fell away in sparkles rather than close. Tired and sickened, he shuffled to the edge and peered into the deep, swirling mists that surrounded the End of Time. His heart pained him; it had been pierced to its core by negativity – guilt, regret, sadness.  
  
An odd creature approached him, and sat at his side.  
  
"What has transpired, sage?" it asked.  
"Spekkio, you will never know..."  
"Yes?"   
"Someday I'll relate all the events to you. But let me now ask you: have you ever been in love?"   
"Love...one impassioned by war has also capacity to feel strongly love. You know that I have a long, long history...but to answer your question: yes, Gaspar, though I never pursued it."  
"I want to die, old friend. I want to become part of the void...I don't deserve to live."   
"My friend, it looks as if you've been hit pretty hard. Please, Gaspar, whatever it was, don't worry. You are safely here; it is all that matters. All is possible while you are still alive. Time eases all things, and there is solace to be taken everywhere. Rest, guru. That is all you shall do. Sleep, and let your difficulties mend themselves. There have been some interesting developments in time, especially in the modern era – these will take your mind off your troubles when you arise."   
"Spekkio, just do one thing for me."   
"Yes?"  
"Run a trace of the gate effect with the destination being the Darkness Beyond. Limit results to volatile, expired dimensions or the fragments thereof, and use this data to assist you."  
  
Gaspar removed the datacube from his pocket.  
  
"Yes, sir. I'll begin now."  
  
Spekkio left his side and began shaping a magical working environment. Gaspar remained on the edge of the platform, staring down at the cube. It seems that Fiona had left something on it before Gaspar took it from her to download the scientific information. A high-resolution hologram emitted from the screen. It was Fiona...  
  
"I'll find you. Fiona...  
  
I promise."  
  
**Explanatory Notes**  
  
Most of this fan fiction operates on findings made at the Chrono Compendium, Through interpretations of statements at Chronopolis, we know that an infinite number of dimensions other than those seen in the main body of the Chrono series exist; they are all a matter of possibility. However, we know the dimensions we take part in as home worlds to us, as they are our base – the world in which we 'reside.' Another statement was made in Chronopolis that other timelines in which Lavos erupts produce data that is extremely volatile; I've personally interpreted this to possibly mean that there might exist incomplete or flawed dimensions. By some quirk in time, Gaspar, after Crono's changes in time, has come to one of these dimensions.  
  
Next, we know that Time Eggs can indeed allow dimensional travel, as the astral amulet in Chrono Cross that Serge uses is simply an incomplete Time Egg forged by Lucca. We also know from that game that an item missing in one world may feel a pull to return to that world – sometimes this pull will result in the involuntary transfer of this item, as observed by Serge's first trip to Another World. Lastly, we know that dimensional travel is probably only possible at points where the dimensions intersect – in Chrono Cross, that would be at Opassa Beach, where Kid rewrote time by saving Serge and caused the dimensions to split. Thus, Gaspar, missing piece to his home dimension, will be returned to that world naturally if he enters a gate at the place where the dimensions interconnect – the point of Lavos's eruptions, as dictated in the story by the fact that the corruption of this dimension is caused in some part by Lavos or his time-altering capabilities. On a sidenote, anti-annihilation energy is a mysterious force alluded to at Chronopolis that comes from the Frozen Flame.  
  
Note: There have been recent developments on the Missing Piece theorem in the Axioms & Corollaries thread on the Chrono Compendium. I still hold that in this fanfiction, Gaspar's subjecting himself to the open sway of time allowed him to return to his home dimension, where a small vacuum did exist that naturally pulled him as a missing piece.  
  
Lastly, I utilized something I inferred from Cross to give hope to Gaspar's quest to bring Fiona back. I believe that Serge's accomplices had to maintain some form of physical contact with him or at least be in the general proximity of the gate created by the astral amulet in order to travel worlds. This and the principles I have mentioned above form the basis of this fanfiction. One more thing: the 'Darkness Beyond' mentioned by Gaspar is the Darkness Beyond Time, or the Tesseract, where the Time Devourer resides and discarded timelines and dimensions go, as defined by Chrono Cross. I hope you've enjoyed and may comprehend this entirely; if you have any questions, please ask.


	2. II The End of Time

**Gaspar Chronicle II. The End of Time**

_ZeaLitY_

Though he did not wish to accept the truth, the old man was continually bombarded by the lack of fire that had resulted from recent events. No longer was his spirit tempered and uplifted by dreams of ambition or beauty, and great occurrences were now passing cares; he had seen all, and experienced the best and bitterest of what had come in his long, ageless life. As he traced the white columns, circulating in unbridled, flawless splendor, he could only wish to be absorbed in the elements, and become careless, breezing through a light wind over some sunny sky. But 'twas not so. No, not even superior knowledge and his omniscience could grant him such a repose, for though he knew the intellects of many men, and had committed nobler acts than the finest retainers of ancient kingdoms could boast of, nothing remained to stoke the silent embers of his heart. The evanescence itself of this flame could no longer strike audience with his attention, which now only served to gaze beyond distance – beyond time – and beyond life, into realms far and close in mind. He did not weep, for his tears were dead inside; the spiritual well in which sorrow dips to bring forth moonlit drops of subtle pain was dry; yea, his passion had betrayed him and left entirely. His heart was not ice, nor was it fire; it simply was relegated to muffled tremors in a chest whose prime had passed long since. Much like place in which its owner resided, it could only press on in existence, never failing or giving start, but constant; unwavering and dully animated.  
  
What is love, to a man and place such as this? Was it attachment? For relation to anything here only meant that one had passed the space of a time in companionship or residence; nothing more could be extracted from such a bond. Was it passion? For though he could observe each cavalier of poesy and the rose languish in romance, he had none, nor want of emotion. Was it life? For neither the living nor dead could discern their status in a place as this, devoid of all save the vaporous mists of aeons, and a vantage to their passing. Love was merely a word at the End of Time, relegated to a cold term and denotation, and never symbolizing its truth thereof; though it had existed once, that point was fixed in time – a small point in the infinite span of eternity, veiled by the temporal journey away from it. Ere this beset of woe, he had fain hoped to return to that point, and though he may have succeeded in a small regard, he had not the will to continue. Happy times were naught when mixed in with those spent in regret and affliction, as a fount shall only remain clean until dirt enters its stream, and then be forever mixed until quieted evermore.  
  
He thus had one, last wish; not a product of the escaped feelings he once had harbored, but a product of their absence – to depart hence, and subject his body to the caprice of time, and its blue-crested, impartial waves. Though he had conquered it, no more could be stand to be unnaturally out of its flow, and removed from the cycle that claims every and respects no one. O, woe betided him. Those shimmering bursts of azure-adorned light, in accordance with their presider, had lost their capacity for any use, and now would be fully sealed. The architecture that once supported the carriers of a magnanimous dream would also be reduced to zero, leaving only those mists that unrelentingly pervaded the environs. It would cease here...  
  
"Spekkio, have you prepared? Is your chamber vacant?" the old man coughed, with a strained voice.  
"Yes...it is."  
"Very well. I pray, lend me a boost; I must close up the Gates."  
"Master, leave them. They no longer function."  
"Nay. We must reduce this place to the nothingness it was when we sprung upon it. Come."  
"Very, very well."  
  
The odd creature closed its soulful eyes and clasped its fist, which radiated with a subtle power. The old sage began to chant a song that, unlike the hundreds of incantations employed by his peers of a dozen millennia before Guardia's founding, had been used only once before in the spectacular and spanning history of the world. One could not tell the grinding of hours that had taken toll on his spirit, yet the few words muttered were flawless in his execution. With each syllable uttered into the swirling air, the circled beacons dimmed in their array of gleaming sparkles, eventually shrinking in height until they seemed to retreat into the ground, being absorbed in singularities. The bronze-gold gate surrounding the platform on which the columns once emanated from seemed to heave and sigh upon losing the luminous reflection provided by said pillars; their dissipating also removed further the restrained sparkle in the guru's eye. Logically, the Gates were useless, as the starter of the dream upon the mission's realization had closed them; however, perhaps attachment played a role here, causing deep, almost undetectable pains in the man's heart. Notwithstanding, he continued, until only the uppermost column remained untouched. It flickered in a fickle manner, shedding only some light on the darkened corners around it. Not a word was spoken.  
  
"...Dear Gaspar, what is to be come of you?"  
"Do not worry, Spekkio. Long have I sat atop this origin of time; however, a mere human such as I is not meant for such a stay. Believe me, Spekkio, it is high time for me to leave."  
"To where will you travel?"  
"Oh, don't concern yourself. I'll have myself a nice time."  
"What of the anomalies?"  
"I suspect that...whoever pops in here may take up residence as I did. It is not my concern. My purpose is fulfilled; it is gone from me."  
"Such words, from you...Gaspar, I will miss you."  
  
He could only gaze down at the floor of his platform, which now began to fade, and took on a transparent quality due to the nature of the magic now working to dissipate the structure. Its entire history vanished; the well that served to enrich the health of the heroes of time fell into nothingness, while the Gate bucket brought about by his own hand fragmented into the basic elements of Light, Water, and Fire – evident in the triangle pieces that fell away. The bridge, once utilized as a dock to the winged chariot of time, also became vapors in the mist; Spekkio's door at once opened and disappeared, revealing nothing. Forever zero; the pedestal of the guru was ageless, yet was reduced in little time. Gaspar approached the solitary column remaining. He stood near, and helpless to enter, turned at once to Spekkio, who was engaged in watching the destruction of his former home in awe. Perhaps the sage's heart was startled –  
  
"I have resolved to do this, and I shall, Spekkio."  
"Thy will be done, master. And your will alone."  
"Time has been saved," he continued, probably justifying his decision. "Power of my caliber is no longer required, and can only have a negative influence on the timeline."  
"Oh, that's readily apparent. We can't have any Time Egg blacksmiths around."  
"My work here is done. It is not my responsibility to gaze into time periods for oddities, or into the privacy of the workings of time."  
"Yes; I know that these things no longer excite you, as science once did."  
"Spekkio...no. I am too tired."  
"Then let us depart. Master, it was a wonder knowing you."  
"Please, do not pierce with those words..."  
"Go on. Step in the light. This place will be left to the whim of a chancing traveler."  
"...I...have to."  
  
His blood quickened; though Spekkio's ruminations and pointed comments did stir his spiritual well somewhat, he remained resolved to go through with the act of eliminating his home at the End of Time and inserting himself into another timeline to die naturally.  
  
"Then go. If you believe it is the right, do so. I shall see you, somewhere, Gaspar. It was a pleasure...old friend."  
  
Spekkio turned away, and an intense whirlwind around him formed. His texture illuminated with the colors of the visible spectrum and those beyond in either wavelength direction; he at last condensed into a singularity, demonstrating an ability that few had possessed in the entire history of the planet. Gaspar watched, with the full knowledge that he probably would not set eyes upon the God of War again in his lifetime, even if he were to remain immortal at the End of Time. Fortunately, his intellect was not allowed to perceive the rashness of his actions, as he continued to feel restricted and cold internally. He began to proceed toward the light...a voice –  
  
"I'm not going to give you the chance, old man."  
"What? Spekkio? Who is there?"  
  
Out of a dark corner of the remaining architecture of the End of Time, a shrouded figure approached, stepping into the reach of the last Gate's radiance. A blue hood covered the person's eyes, though did not fully restrict wavy hair, which appeared as waves atop the sea. Though they were covered, one could not escape the feeling of being watched by intense, piercing eyes. The face tapered towards the chin in a way suggesting slyness, or a particularly dangerous intellect. The man's form stood tall and commanding, striking intimidation in even the elements that supported his weight; no wind blew, yet his figure seemed animated as his hood slightly moved in the mist. Gaspar strained to see him, and at once, the cloak effortlessly blew off through a dash of magic, revealing a strikingly handsome but awe-inspiring countenance; the eyes indeed saw through the old sage, past his core and to realms far beyond. His hair, now released, shone blue with magnificence paralleled only by the sapphire gem, and though his lips were drawn to a stern position, a curt tension at one side indicated quick wit. He might instantly strike fear and wonderment alike in those with the chance of gazing upon his full beauty and terrible presence. Truly, beyond all poetic devices, none could match him in these regards.  
  
"About to depart, are we?"  
"Janus! It is you! I—"  
"Hmm?"  
"I thought you had perished! I could not see you from this point—"  
"Don't concern yourself with my whereabouts. Now, old man..."  
"Don't come closer! What is it you want?"  
  
Magus stared into the infinite swirl of mist above, and then replied.  
  
"Your assistance, dear guru."  
"You're unusually talkative! Janus, I play no role in the fortunes of time."  
"Oh?"  
"I am leaving here forever."  
"As I said, that matter is up to me."  
"You!!"  
"Gaspar, I need you to help me with something."  
"I...!"  
  
Magus waved his hand, instantly silencing Gaspar with a spell.  
  
"Gaspar, have you observed the actions of Serge?"  
  
The old sage's eyes instantly relaxed, and drifted upwards, recounting the vision of several events seen in 1020 A.D. He recalled his peer, Belthasar, and his intricate designs; the poor boy Serge, who was destined to undertake a quest to patch up negative effects of the very quest he himself had furthered, though without knowledge that the recreation of the Ocean Palace disaster would lead to such a disastrous side-effect. He did recall the dimensions, and experiments undertaken to test their relation to timelines. As the guru had been sinking into depression at this point, these events did strike him with no more than a passing relevance.  
  
"Good. Come with me."  
  
His vocal cords relaxed, prompting him to gasp for air.  
  
"How did you get here?"  
"How does anyone?"  
"Janus...using the closed Gates forcefully stresses...the space time continuum!"  
"I've more important fish to fry, at the moment, than worry about this. In addition, my name is Magus. Let us depart hence."  
"You fool! I'll not come along on your...whims!"  
  
Magus did not speak a word, but gripped Gaspar and placed him on the last column. Uttering low words on how dreary the End of Time was, Magus stepped into the light himself, and quickly manipulated the Shadow element to force the closed Gate open, allowing it to engulf the two travelers. Accompanying them were the usual azure-lidded orbs that circle in Entity-produced Gates, complete with white sparkles that dotted what has been named the 'plane of time,' or a flat span produced by the visual effects of using such a Gate. The excursion was mundane for Magus, who had the tainted pleasure of enduring the largest time disruption recorded – that of the summoning of Lavos, responsible for the forwarding of the planet's dream and the fall of the Mystics. However, as the aura increased in intensity, these thoughts faded to reveries and sweet nothingness, lacking purpose.  
  
What is purpose? Is it that which binds man to life, providing a light for one to seek and work towards attaining? Or is purpose simply existing – the search for one's destiny? Though many of the world have believed that destiny is chosen prior to birth, and that a fate is god over their actions, a few, such as Magus, rebel against the vaporous chains of this entity, striving to break free of its supposed cycle. Those who undertake this task often fall short, discouraged; however, one can only truly break free and choose one's own destiny if one never gives up in life – even in death. The Guru Gaspar was guilty of this in some part; though his attempts to trace the dimensional tracks of his love were laborious and excruciating, he grew tired as time's sands shifted downward, eventually relinquishing the mission and abandoning his own vantage point atop the hourglass. Magus of the shadows, however, had pressed on in his personal mission, which likewise contained the ultimate objective of finding love – though, a different kind of the affection than romance. Even in the face of the greatest and most formidable threat, the sole being Lavos who surpassed him in magical ability, Magus did not cower, but thrust forward with courage and lack of regret. The 'mission' here is lost – for freemen define their own purpose, and seek it vigorously, instead of casting their fate to wherever the wind may take them.  
  
Indeed, some events may be purposeful warnings – but speculation as this was absent, along with any other thought, in the minds of Gaspar and Magus, for the Gate traveling had rendered them unconscious in peaceful slumber; the guru's old age might be blamed for his blackout, while the formidable Magus simply may not have been prepared for the onset of soporific temporal effects. Were such things natural? Surely, these afflictions did not plague the heroes of time in their quest, and could now only be reasonably the byproduct of disruptions in the space-time continuum. Nay, these worries could not conflict with the relaxed intellects of the pair. In short time, a Gate materialized in a forest clearing, marked with a wooden post on one edge. Falling out of a dream, the two were heaped upon the ground, retaining their own vagaries as they quietly lay on the meadow under the oscillating Gate. Several hours would pass, and the sun would approach its retirement for the day, before the odd couple would stretch and breathe the sylvan growth's fresh air. Dumbfounded and groggy, Magus pulled his eyelids upward, and rolled to a sitting position. Gaspar also coughed, and peered at the mage, whose hair contrasted the orange sky. He of the shadows lifted his right arm and pointed a finger at the sage of time.  
  
"Damn you, old man," he muttered.  
"No, damn you, Janus!" the guru replied. "Where are we? This is not Truce Canyon, nor are we in the Middle Ages!"  
"Shut up, and come with me."  
"My, my! Is this?"  
  
Gaspar's eyes wandered to the marker, barely readable in the sunset's pale gleam.  
  
"This is the modern era! You did not force the Gate, did you?"  
  
Gaspar was met with silence, and rapped Magus on the shoulder.  
  
"I do what I must!"  
"You strain the continuum! What time did you send us to?"  
  
The approximate answer was unneeded, for high above the forest's reach stood a castle – powerful, albeit blackened by fire damage not repaired – that was missing some of its towers, and whose capstone was a banner displaying a proud Gryphon. Straining his eyes, Gaspar could make out several dots along the highest watchtower, and a long barrel jutting from the main keep. The vision of Magus was perfect, however – he knew those dots were equipped with rifles and scopes, and that the shaft was in reality a piece of artillery. Fortunately, the pair would be safe among the shadows of the approaching night; this fact did nothing to calm Gaspar, however – though his tone of voice became serious and deep; it resonated with sobriety, perhaps bestowed by the fear of those commanding the castle, or a return of purpose.  
  
"I know that flag well, Janus. I ask you again: where are we?"  
"My magic is not advanced enough to control precise Gate mechanics. We're as close as I may take us."  
"To what?"  
"To a key."  
"I see. We're on a deceptive journey. Do you think me a tool, Janus?"  
"You are...I require you."  
"I see how it—"  
  
Magus quickly hushed the guru's mouth, and ducked with the sage in his arms into a hedge. What had eluded Gaspar's auditory cortex was readily ringing in the ears of the shadowed one – the clang of boots, guns, and military equipment. Unable to maintain his composure, Gaspar coughed, prompting one of the soldiers to break formation and check the hedge; the other guards forged on. With a wave of the hand, Magus caused every muscle in the trooper's body to relax; he crumpled on the ground.  
  
"Power as that should not exist," Gaspar said aloud.  
  
The alert duo eventually left the glades, alternating between crawling and walking as patrols passed by. At the exit of the forest, Magus instructed Gaspar to accompany him east; on the horizon rose smoke trails, barely visible in the last rays of the fading orb. The journey to their source was straightforward; once in the city's limits, the guru and mage paused at a small eatery. Wine was served – at high cost, even though it had been brewed freshly in 1023 A.D. – along with several pieces of dark bread. Gaspar saw an opportunity for dialogue.  
  
"Now that we are settled, tell me your true intent, Janus."  
  
Magus paused, and looked up.  
  
"I seek something in time. You are most knowledgeable on the subject; it is thus reasonable for you to assist me."  
"I thought you were dead until recently. I could not see you from the End of Time."  
"Do not ever look for me," Magus began. "If meetings are to be, I will find you."  
"Never fear; I haven't forgotten your reputation as a brooding, fickle child."  
  
Magus exhaled under his breath, perhaps uttering an indiscernible curse at the Guru. Several drunkards, who had recently stumbled in from the tavern across the street, now populated the restaurant they sat in. Spraying foul curses and cheery merriments into the air, they proceeded to clear a table and encourage onlookers to behold their dancing abilities. Glass broke on the floor; the shattering sound complemented a slurred ditty of years past –  
  
_Hail to thee, dear Guardia! __  
__A' knights and squires true; __  
__For crimson kingly blood doth run __  
__Through our veins of red and blue; __  
  
__Through times a'gone, __  
__And nearer still today, __  
__Our battles shall be greatly won! __  
__Our enemies shall be flayed—_  
  
At this point in the song, the drunken man was pulled down from the table by a few, sober men of stout build. Forthwith, the restaurant entrance was brutishly opened by a patrol of Porre troops; the squad proceeded to beat the sprawling man until he fell silent with bloody unconsciousness. At this length, the headman of the crew stood upright and raised his arm—  
  
"Let this be a warning! Any mention of Guardia shall be punished severely! Charge of treason shall be given, fulfilled by death!"  
  
The commander kicked the drunken man once more, causing a spit of blood. Quickly, a member of the team repositioned the table that had been displaced, while the rest dragged the Guardian supporter out of the restaurant in chains. Once their departure was complete, several patrons of the eatery left the building to the owner's objections; a faithful servant approached Gaspar and Magus.  
  
"We're sorry—"  
"It is fine, dear girl," Gaspar corrected.  
"Well then – what shall your main course be?"  
"Oh, I'll have a simple stew. Janus, for you?"  
  
Magus stared blankly.  
  
"A cherry."  
"Uh – okay, one second," and off the waitress went.  
"It is deplorable, isn't it? That history had to turn this way? I did not foresee the rise of the nation of Porre as a byproduct of the planet's dream; though unfortunately, it is now ingrained into the tablet of time. Better that a few suffer in three centuries' blink, than an entire population perish in hell fire. Ah...were it not so," Gaspar lamented.  
"It can be changed." Magus' reply was simple, but meaningful.  
"No! Perish the thought. You cannot save these people."  
"...As if I would care."  
"I didn't think you did. It is better that one stays out of temporal affairs for now; Lavos and the Time Devourer are both eradicated. The plan of Belthasar put unbelievable stress on this timeline; I believe its effects are still being manifested in some form, and may have been responsible for my displacement in another dimension."  
  
Magus lifted a brow.  
  
"Oh, long...long story. Anyway – now that the timeline has been repaired, although somewhat patchworkedly, the future is mostly safe. Nonetheless, it could have disastrous effects if one were to travel in time."  
"Belthasar...Project Kid?"  
"That is correct. Janus, where on the planet have you been?""Need a refresher? Know you of Serge?"  
"...Yes."  
"Then you remember that Schala—"  
"Schala!"  
"Uhh—yes; she was freed, but unfortunately soon disappeared; from my observation, it seemed her only remaining objective was to find Serge – a ludicrously simple task, considering everyone in El Nido and outside of time knows where he resides."  
  
Magus's fist tightened.  
  
"If you don't know the specifics," Gaspar continued, "when the dimensions were unified, and the Time Devourer was eliminated, the historical devices by which Project Kid was accomplished were no longer necessary, although Chronopolis is rumored to still operationally exist. The resulting dimension – precisely the one in which we are now, which I have entitled the 'ideal' dimension – was simply a rewinding of natural time to 1010 A.D., with Serge implanted moments after his passing out in 1020 A.D. during a talk with a friend."  
"What of Kid?"  
"Well, she may not exist...I...haven't checked what occurs after the dimensional unification, actually..."  
"No matter. She isn't of concern."  
"I continually forget that only those who partook of Serge's quest or were outside of the normal time stream at the hour of his dimensional unification retain any memory of the event. I saw it, for I was outside of time, and the two who attended Serge in his battle may have memory. I know not how you have memory! But Janus, I know you are worried about your sister; is she the reason you've taken me?"  
  
Silence ensued the abrupt question. While he restrained from speaking, Magus noticed that his cherry had been placed in front of him on a silver platter. Delicately lifting it by its stalk, he gently placed it in his mouth and bit it off. One crushing move with his mandible, and he was instantly spirited away to realms over and beyond the imagination; yea, that paragon of beauty and enlightenment, having once sailed the skies before meeting a tumultuous death. In those times, he had regularly enjoyed such a treat; only in the gardens of Zeal did fruit dare to grow, and the plumpest of the product was selected for the palate of the royal family. At times, the lure of this Elysium would provoke him to consider retirement there; surely, a temporal way could be found to paradise. Though his intellect had long-since surpassed the finest works of the laboratories of Kajar, and albeit he took no solace in dreams, Enhasa and the other goldenly arrayed cities of the magic kingdom always awaited him on the other side of a Gate. Though the quick eras surrounding her life were problematic and troublesome, she could be found there too...  
  
"Well, I certainly understand that as meddlers in the affairs of time, we should look after our changing actions," Gaspar began, observing Magus relax his eyelids to the taste of cherry.  
"Meddlers..." he whispered, ere finishing the fruit. "We are...the scourge of time, and reality. Our existence only hampers the normal flow of all. If it were the world's fate to perish in the spires of Lavos, so be it. Each to their own time era, yet we have no residency in the flow; we are outsiders. The End of Time is merely a rotting repose. Nothing...can come of..."  
"Interfering? Drifting? And this is all fine, I suppose, as long as you have your Schala?"  
  
Gaspar's scientific and analytical mind, only recently having a taste of love and sorrow, could not yet fully comprehend the poignancy of his comment. Magus, at this point, had become very mildly mentally unstable; his clenched fist, merely by its tightness and the actions of its muscles, began to extract the basic fire element from the air surrounding it. A subtle ring of fire circulated around his hand; the surface below the tabletop began to blacken with faint smoke. Suddenly, his gaze relaxed; he now glanced upward at the ceiling with a barely-opened mouth. The burning dissipated, and a flash of unrelenting, total determination swept over his eyes. Foolish is the man who doubts the wizard's resolve.  
  
"There is one that I seek in particular. We leave tonight for El Nido."  
"Surely; however, I cannot float with magic."  
"A ferry shall suffice."  
"That is, if the politics of 1023 AD haven't prohibited the luxury," Gaspar corrected.  
  
The two stood up from the table, leaving a few gold coins as a generous tip. The open night air had begun to drift into the restaurant; outside, it proliferated with a certain cool humidity. In the distance, a number of torches marked the dock of Truce, which was bustling with fresh shipments from Medina – packages of food and assorted magical trinkets that were distributed to antique collectors. In a neglected corner of the olden group of piers rested a ferryboat whose paint was peeling and whose body was blotched by smudges of smoke, barely visible in the evening. Traversing on the battered wooden platforms of the dock evoked a certain air of sadness; even the armed soldiers watching and checking the flow of traffic could feel weightiness in their hearts. The duo of time travelers were very familiar with this emotion, and regarded it as a passing care; they sauntered to the front office and paid thirty pieces of gold to secure a voyage to the archipelago in which Project Kid transpired. Offered scantly adorned bunks in the hold of the vessel, Gaspar and Magus accepted and prepared to sleep.  
  
Magus was first to enter the land of Nod – however, prior to succumbing to rest, he pulled a small, worn notebook out of his pocket, and began to flip through the pages. Arriving at one whose corner was turned and folded, his eyes focused to accommodate the curved text written upon it.  
  
_March 18th, 2334 A.D. __  
  
__The final designs are in order; the simulation, accounting for a variety of possible variables, reported a successful scenario twenty-three times out of twenty-five. I believe I have attained an adequate level of control to ensure the project is carried out; the major factors are in order, including the research on the Entity – I believe I have its favor. My troop of scientists has precisely pinpointed geometrically the opposite of Chronopolis in relation to location if El Nido were considered a circle. I later appropriately accommodated for the introduction of the tower. All stands ready. Looking back, it is a wonder that I have come this far; I shall not lose sight of the objective now. The most advanced medical science of this era has prolonged my lifespan considerably – perhaps if I stayed few years, I could conceivably become an immortal, though there are bad connotations with that word. Only once in history has the human race come close to achieving that end, and the effects of its failure have caused the scourge I am working to eliminate now. __  
  
__Ah, it seems the time has come; the robotic mechanics have left a message stating that the antiparticle shells are in place and finely-tuned. No temporal disruptions threaten my voyage now. It is time to bid farewell; if Project Kid fails, the T.D. fusion shall leave just enough time for another run – though this time, one may have to intervene directly and empower the young Arbiter, for the T.D. would be inexplicably stronger. ... I wonder if Melchior is alive. I shall find out in due time –_  
  
The entry abruptly ceased on this line; the dark wizard might have turned and read other pages, but his eyes had become glazed for lack of sleep. As he closed his eyes, his breathing pattern became elongated and inaudible – he was oft in danger of being mistaken for dead, if anyone dared to come across him. Across from him lay Gaspar, turning and heaving on his bare bed and attempting to quiet his raving mind. Nightmares constantly bothered him, beginning after the trip to the empty dimension. Tonight would be no exception; a shaky repose set in as his eyes closed to the dim moonlight filtering in from cracks above. After a couple hours, his sleep cycle descended at last; his brain's delta waves phased out, and R.E.M. sleep ensued. At once, the visage of Fiona became visible...  
  
There she stood, laughing with him upon a grassy hill in a verdurous pasture in 1999 A.D. Almost suddenly, a falling sensation passed over the guru's body; he felt as if he were plummeting to a deep abyss. His love became concerned, though her distraught look perished instantaneously as the sky flashed crimson. Producing a convulsing effect, huge earthquakes began tearing open the land as spires rained, causing fiery explosions. Feeling utterly helpless, Gaspar strove to claw his way to his lover's side; unfortunately, she grew in fright, and gazed beyond. The guru immediately turned around to face Lavos itself – its eerie eye seemed agitated and angry, and glared sharply. Numerous Gates began appearing at random, while energy streaks gathered at the eye's pupil; slowly, a beam emitted, blinding Gaspar until all became white – yet Gaspar remained powerless! The vagary did not cease; the profound nature of the vision caused Gaspar's body to undergo that dreaded sensation of being pulled apart, arising in temporal disruptions. There would be no struggle, for as soon as these tremors were recognized, a scream emanated from all directions – Fiona's. Gaspar's being was obliterated; what little conscious will he retained in the dream world had long succumbed to the terror of the unconscious's suffering. The normal course soon fell in; flashes of the most horrendous moments of the Guru's life were condensed and shot into the man's heart, as he lay frozen in a dead scream. Culmination in the sequence of fear was reached as the entire collection of negative emotion he had experienced from the construction of the Mammon Machine onward pounded him senseless.  
  
One could not tell how many eras could pass in such nightmares to his perception, but a limit did exist; in due time, he fell into sweet, albeit exhausted, reverie – he dreamt of lying in an Enhasian bed, and thought of the magical city of Kajar and its inner workings. The gentle breeze that cooled the floating archipelago and swayed its verdant pastures cradled his tired frame; he could recall standing atop a grassy cliff, and staring into the eternal curvature of the horizon. There, in his laboratory, he was at peace, researching Time Eggs amidst the greatest compendiums of knowledge ever compiled in the written word; and on bold days, he would dare to surmount the peak tower of Zeal Palace, and faint in the grandeur of the world the lay around him and within him. This return to placid zones and thoughts was almost like the restoration of balance to a tipped-scale; with each tearing down, there must be a building up. Careless once more in the realm of the ancient kingdom, Gaspar fell into a contented sleep – save for a slight muscular pull at the corners of his mouth, indicating an unresolved, and now buried, collection of worry and fear. Better it should sink, however – through conscious effort shall these rifts be amended, and healing would be impossible were the plague of guilt and pain to weigh heavily on his mind. Having sensed the sage's inner turmoil and subsequent resolution, Magus slightly smiled and returned to his meditative slumber.  
  
In lofty social circles, rudeness is abhorred and a condemnable blight upon the desired perfection of grace; unfortunately, man cannot live without certain physiological needs, which give way to necessary evils – would not every person desire to sleep soundly and awake by command of personal will? Waking often cannot occur in such a manner in the absence of sunlight, training, and later, biofeedback; thus, a requirement arises for a brash, rude assault upon the senses at a certain time in morning to cause a grudging departure of bed. In the case of the two travelers, a boomingly disturbing horn on the ferry rattled the hold, shaking Gaspar startlingly awake and causing Magus to wince. Activity on the deck was soon audible; the shout of brazen crewmates tainted the air with roughness. Discerning sharply the orders barked by the captain, it was readily apparent to Magus that the objective as near at hand: the famed El Nido passage lay on the horizon, though it had been made less dangerous recently through Porrean demolition. Safety aside, the waters had become increasingly bumpy. Eager to greet the planned events of the day, Magus arose calmly, while Gaspar stumbled, eventually sitting down with his head in his hands to shake off the vaporous curtains of sleep. After quick visits to the pump-operated restroom, the guru and wizard surmounted the row of steps leading to the deck, and squinted their eyes to block the glorious, risen sun.  
  
"We have arrived," Magus proudly uttered.  
"Looks that way. Amazing how this single nest has witnessed such extraordinary events. I beseech you, Magus: where are we headed?"  
  
Magus shifted his eyes towards the main island, which now came into view.  
  
"A backwater village."  
"Arni? Janus, you don't intend to—"  
"We'll see."  
"Well, I pray we're stopping in Termina. If I'm to be dragged along, I'd like to have a full stomach!"  
  
At mention of the white-walled city, Magus's mind stirred with mixed feelings of a magnitude detectable on the wizard's face. Though Gaspar marked the mighty one's sudden tenseness, he dismissed it without care and attempted to focus on the approach of another vessel; it was a steely blue Porrean assault boat, complete with a soldier waving down the ferry. To this end, the captain of the transport slipped the trooper a few pieces of silver, and the patrol guided the ship into Termina's bay, which had long been adorned with cannons – rather than Viper gargoyles – on its architecture. The slow entrance was eventually finished; an officer oversaw the checking of luggage of each passenger, and surveyed himself the odd pair of travelers. Fortunately, he did not irk the Magus as customs proceeded. Gaspar meanwhile surveyed the area, looking for possible participators in Project Kid; he at length spotted the owner of a local element shopped, and remembered chuckling at his plight of fungus. The guru knew, however, that there was a good chance this was not the same man who ventured according to Belthasar's plan; the theory by which this conclusion had been formed would later prove useful to the brooding mage companion.  
  
The two soon approached a bar for procuring food and drink; inside, merchants proudly displayed dirtied wealth by ordering several servings of squid-gut pasta, whose beneficiaries were on the road to extinction. The Guru of Time strolled into a booth seat, noticing Magus, who remained in the entryway. Though misunderstanding his purpose at first, Gaspar soon realized the cause of this halting – for there, across from him in the corner of the bar was his physical equal. Gaspar jumped at alarm, his mind racing at the possibilities. Was this man a dimensional equivalent of Magus? Did he exist in a different temporal frame? Perhaps he was Magus from the future, come to warn the pair! Gaspar could not contain his excitement, the first jocund emotion to arise within him in weeks – a glimmer in the deep oblivion that had become his soul. Fortunately, he was slowly accepting reality, and the entrance of this Magus-double would prove interesting; it was nearly unbelievable. He thought back to Doreen's favorite advice in Zeal – "never assume that what you see and feel is real!" – and wondered if he himself were hallucinating.  
  
Magus stepped forward, and his mask-wearing double failed to notice. Gaspar coughed, and suddenly, the man who appeared as a magician darted up from what must have been a quick, afternoon nap.  
  
"You!" Magus pointed and spoke aloud, acting very out of character.  
"What?! Me? Who?"  
"What are you doing here? This is not a vision; why do you still exist?"  
"What the hell? Are you him?!"  
"Me? Do you not remember? I am he of the shadows," blurted Magus, with a painful irony.  
"What is going on here?" asked Gaspar.  
"Do you know this man? He has immense power!" shouted the magician.  
"Power hidden in you, if you could unlock it...Guile."  
  
Various hints of memory washed over Gaspar's mind as the name struck a chord. Indeed, there had been a traveling magician who had accompanied Serge – a man of total enigma, rivaling Magus as a creeper in the shadows. He had displayed great skill in manipulating Dragonian elements, but of his fate at the end of the adventure, the Guru could not tell.  
  
"Hah! Well, my existence – I can't say."  
"I do not understand, Guile. Did you not desire to return into the darkness?"  
"For what reason, I ask? Venturing with Serge has been a most enjoying experience. My purpose in life was fulfilled – but yet, my life retains its meaning. I am Guile, myself, and I have my own will – to drift and seek the great mysteries of this world. Fate, as I've found out, is dead! Hah!"  
  
Guile lifted a wine glass sitting next to him high, and sipped. Gaspar could not restrain himself at this point, as he had picked up on the obvious reference to Serge's victory over the FATE computer.  
  
"You retain memories as well, son! How? Are you a time traveler? A temporal observer? Or...did you battle with the Time Devourer?"  
"Ahah! You must find out yourself, and therein lies the joy of enigmas," Guile cryptically responded.  
"Enough. Speak, Guile. I have power to reduce you to the dust you tread upon."  
"Magus, you're far too rude. I do not mean to belittle you, but it was rather easy. Was I not in the mansion?"  
"You were," the mage spoke.  
"And there I was again."  
  
Gaspar could not decipher the riddle, though Magus easily understood.  
  
"Hah! Well, is this not grand? Guile, you're quite the stylish fool. Whatever your purpose, as you call it, may be presently, I wish you well in fulfilling it. Hah! I cannot believe this. Gaspar, let us depart. We've wasted too much time," Magus laughed.  
"But I've not drunken a draught!"  
"Here," Guile said, "take this."  
  
The magician tossed a small bottle of Vin de Termina to the Guru, who gazed in wonderment before joining Magus, who was making his way through white streets to the city gates. Gaspar opened, using a crude, small cup to take a sip. The passage through Fossil Valley was marked with ease; an excavation of the dragon fossils residing there had squelched the supernatural phenomena that often plagued the area. Despite the removal of those ancient artifacts, bellflowers still grew, themselves heralding a glory that had passed. Arni soon came into view; its verdant, grassy waves shimmered, as did the sea, which gave rise to the village. It was quite a sight to see Magus in his blue apparel and Gaspar in a Guru's outfit among the poorly, but spiritedly dressed mariners. Observable in the center of the village was an old, bald man who spoke to a few kids of, according to the new generation of villagers, 'ludicrous, impossible stories.' Gaspar smiled, wondering if this Radius had seen the Time Devourer and forgotten as Serge should have, or was merely a product of the new timeline.  
  
Upon the docks, an aging, hat-wearing coot fished, or at least appeared to be doing so while in a slumber brought on by the brilliancy of the day – for the sky beamed royally blue, accented by a modest few puffs of white. Among the villagers at the dock was one whose hair color matched the hue of the heavens. Gaspar's heart leaped, for he stood in sight of the man who had saved the entire space-time continuum from disaster – the man who had sojourned in search of his own identity and fate, and had ultimately come to steer his own destiny and prevail over the implacable foe. He was the pinnacle of heroism – and he had no memory of his own achievements, or of the forces that spurned him onward to victory. Gaspar froze while deliberating on these thoughts, and Magus moved forward, almost irreverently in the presence of such a godly figure – though such a thought would never cross the mind of Magus, which held himself highest in all accounts. Nonetheless, the wizard's attention was fully occupied upon the young man. Out of character, he stopped moving, and motioned Gaspar to catch up.  
  
"I hate to admit such a thing, but I'm a bit excited, Gaspar."  
"Well, you should be! We would not be, save for him."  
"No, no. Belthasar might have selected someone else, if not him. Regardless, do you believe he shall retain memories?"  
"I...am not sure, but I will vouch that I expect it. The loss was not brought about by temporal circumstances—"  
"Very well, let us move," Magus uttered.  
  
At these words, the two slowly approached Serge, who had finished rigging a fish-catching device, and was now turning upward. He moved forward towards the couple while continuing to look down at his creation; Gaspar was startled at this advance, and the creaking of the docks under his step attracted Serge's attention. He looked up, expressionless, and gazed at the travelers, who stared speechlessly as well. Before the situation turned awkward, Magus intervened –  
  
"Good morning. We are from Termina, and are wondering if we may hire a boatman to take us out to sea."  
"Hey! We've got plenty—"  
"Indeed," Magus interrupted. "Are you up to the task?"  
"Uh, well, I'm a bit busy—"  
"No matter. You seem a reliable navigator, and shall be paid handsomely for your service."  
  
Gaspar could not help but smirk at the trading persona Magus had donned.  
  
"Well, I guess I could—"  
"It is settled," Magus resumed. "Lead us to your boat."  
  
Serge smiled, for he was convinced that his quick thinking had gotten him an extra payment – the truth of the matter being that he was at the docks out of boredom! He deftly unlashed the ropes from the pier, and ushered the duo into his vessel. Gaspar was enjoying hugely this treat of visiting El Nido; he had only once made a visit in the past, and had not the pleasure of Terminian wine and Arnian sails in that experience. The gentle rocking of the boat was hardly a bother to his sipping; the pleasure gave way to a bit of altruism, and he wondered if Magus was enjoying himself as well – and it seemed so, if one could tell from his content expression as he observed Serge. The trio was a sizable length offshore when conversation resumed.  
  
"Ah, sorry for not introducing ourselves earlier," the guru began. "I am Gaspar, and this is my assistant, Janus. A pleasure to meet you?"  
  
Magus was alerted at Gaspar's honesty in dealing with names, but soon remembered that Serge was no threat.  
  
"Yes! I'm Serge, by the way. I live in Arni, and pull my weight as a fisherman. You aren't interested in any fish, are you?"  
"Well, not now—" Gaspar was interrupted.  
"But of course, of course," Magus started. "Anything to enhance this day. We were wise in choosing you, navigator."  
"I'm honored to serve!"  
"Indeed," Magus slyly began.  
  
The warlock was intensely searching within his mind for a way to question the experiences and memories of Serge without appearing threatening; not only might such a bad gesture hinder the facilitation of memory, but Serge may simply abandon the travelers, should danger be detected. At once, Magus arrived at a solution.  
  
"This is a beautiful day, almost as perfect as the day I encountered in an odd dream last night. I dreamt I was in some sort of Elysium, with magnificent fruit around me. The pastures were verdant, the sky azure, and the few, stately buildings housing the people of my charge were gold and white; they were pure, sparkling edifices."  
"Ha," Gaspar muttered under his breath at Magus's lack of creativity – for he had just described Zeal, in part.  
"Gaspar, perhaps you had dream of similar stock?" Magus asked, recognizing that Gaspar had caught on to his guile.  
"Nay, my dream was shrouded in enigma, though I am sure I had it. I dreamt of a little boy, who boastingly told me of strange, doomful prophecies, and then began to run. Unfortunately, he stumbled upon the steps and began crying piteously, the poor urchin!"  
"Yes, what and mysterious dream," Magus grumbled through his teeth. "You, Serge – have you had interesting vagaries as well?"  
"Well, things as vivid as yours, I don't think so."  
"Oh, but do tell anyway. Dreams make such an interesting topic!" Gaspar smiled.  
"Well, guys, take your pick! I seem to have many, and they're all great and adventuresome. It's really a trip sometimes! I'll be sailing, and meet a group of pirates, or go on some other venture. Sometimes, I dream of flying!" Serge said, while Gaspar and Magus exchanged glances.  
"Very good, very good," Magus capped. "I don't suppose you believe dreams to disclose the future, do you? Or perhaps provide lifelike reenactments of the past? As magicians we have chanced to investigate this, and the results are surprising."  
"Nah, I'm not much for that mystic stuff. Funny you guys should ask; I thought all Terminians were greedy. I admit my dreams are pretty varied and adventurous...I'd say the only thing that sometimes bothers me is a recurring nightmare. Just a stupid thing; I was frightened by a panther one time, I think, but it's nothing."  
"Ah," Gaspar said in the tone of a sage. "Does this panther manifest itself in different forms, or is it always the same flashback?"  
"Well, sometimes...you might think I'm stupid, but I see this man...cat. Yeah, he's like a combination of a man and beast. Stuff involving him is somewhat vague, though I do get mixed emotions."  
  
Silence followed as Magus and Gaspar thought, neglecting to respond.  
  
"Oh, sorry you guys. You must think I'm a case, talking about all this weird stuff—"  
"Hah! Save your peace. We've seen all sorts of "weird" things, haven't we Magus?"  
"Yes. We've had our share—"  
"And," Gaspar continued, "I have a hunch your dreams are trying to tell you something, Serge!"  
"What? What do you mean?" he asked.  
"My friend means to ask: have you ever wondered if your dreams are real? Whether you perhaps suffered a bit of amnesia?" Magus smoothly delivered.  
"No...well...I can daydream all I want. They're just fantasies, you know?"  
"Have you ever suffered a bout of amnesia? I'll be specific," Magus marked.  
"No. Well...three years ago I did wake up passed out on a beach, unable to remember the day and a few before it. How I remember even that incident, I'm not sure. I probably hit my head or something."  
"1020 A.D. An important date, Magus?" Gaspar quipped.  
"Indeed. It was that beach, wasn't it?"  
  
Magus pointed with a quick movement at a beach now in sight along the shore; the sand leveled close to the coast, and behind it laid much growth and foliage. The area seemed unnaturally calm; no wind blew, and the sands gleamed especially white.  
  
"What? Are you psychic?"  
"Take us there," Magus continued.  
"There's nothing on Opassa Beach," Serge protested.  
"Please excuse us. Just take us there," Gaspar asked. "We're genuinely interested in this place, now that you mention it. There are rumored to be special magnetic fields that cause strange symptoms to those who frequent the area. This beach may be such an area."  
  
Magus snickered at Gaspar's excuse, while Serge nodded and complied – for though he appeared to be a simple islander, he truly did thirst for knowledge of his dreams, and would jump at the chance for a bit of insight. His dreams carried a profound effect upon Serge; he had been known to awake very early in the morning with beads of sweat dripping from his matted hair. He tried to remember particularly these visions, but it seemed they constantly eluded him; the resident shaman of Arni, a master fisherman doubling as a student of Mystic art, provided a charmed doll and suggested taking herbs, but the dreams would persist. Chief Radius also could not resolve the issue; though the probable nightmares were reminiscent of his own dark terrors stemming from bloody combat, he could not understand how Serge suffered such flashbacks. Serge had found that sleeping without Leena provided some relief, as he felt a mental tug when she was near him, as if she maintained a relevant position in these nightmares as well. The only true solace came in his inability to remember the meaning and content of them; unlike Gaspar, Serge had no Zeal to retreat to, but also did not have to worry about such a retreat.  
  
He soon ran the boat upon the shallowest extent of the beach; Gaspar marked his movements, at last detecting a deep mind at work. He had yet to know how Serge would handle the attempt at reviving his memories – whatever the technique – and hoped that the young man would be compliant. Gaspar was enjoying his focus's departure from his own affairs; he prayed Magus's enterprise would be furthered. Though the Gurus of Zeal did not swear a rite of protection, as a knight may to a princess, Gaspar felt that he nonetheless owed obligation to Schala, and the current quest seemed a way to tie up that loose end. On that same note, it would fulfill Magus's purpose in life – but again, this made Gaspar question the nature of purpose, as Magus's purpose was neither inborn, nor predetermined. It was his choice alone; though it was expected of him to search, he may just as easily asserted that the situation was hopeless, and that Schala could not be recovered. Might he be strong in this fashion? Eking out his own destiny, and setting the terms of his life? Nay, now was not the time to think. A wondrous event was reaching its potential.  
  
"This is the place, is it not, Serge?" Magus asked.  
"Yeah. Opassa, close to the shore edge."  
"Ah, perfect. How to begin, Gaspar?"  
"Janus, you're the expert here."  
"I thought your name was Magus?" asked Serge.  
"It seems Gaspar has dispensed with formalities. Disregard that name. Anyhow, Serge, what if I told you your dreams are real; that they are manifestations of the past?"  
"What? My dreams are of huge occurrences. I couldn't have done all that in a couple days' time."  
"Hah. Serge, if you could remember the memories presented in your dreams at will, would you thus believe them as true memories?"  
"...I guess."  
"Therein lies are problem. Serge, what was that bladed tool in your boat?"  
"That's a swallow, for defense."  
  
Magus reached into the vessel, retrieved the swallow, and kicked the boat offshore somewhat – to Serge's surprise. He tossed the weapon to Serge, who frantically succeeded in catching it without injury.  
  
"Hey! Be careful with this! What are you doing?" Serge cried.  
"Well, in addition to seeing if the memories are still there implicitly, I'm going to light the fuse that'll result in their release – figuratively speaking," Magus wryly grinned.  
  
Gaspar's face alighted, as he instantly comprehended Magus's technique. Surely, if Serge were an expert of combat in his past experience as Arbiter and savior of time, relearning his abilities would be comparatively easier and faster – if the procedural memories were still present. Knowing he was potentially on the brink of witnessing a spectacular fight, the guru sharpened his vision, wondering whether Serge still carried a Dragonian element grid. If Magus were to use true magic, it would shock Serge, and perhaps move into motion divergent thinking on his part. In regard to the magician's latter statement, Gaspar surmised that Serge's relearning would unlock, in part, memories linked to the Swallow; this entailed vastness, as Belthasar's Project Kid was won with such a weapon.  
  
Magus drew two short swords, and twirled them in either hand. As his objective was not outright, facile killing – as his reaper would have undoubtedly put a swift end to Serge's life – he decided to employ useful tools for deflecting Serge's swallow while maintaining quick speed. Stepping up the intensity to the nigh-approaching duel would jog Serge's memory faster, it was theorized. Serge backed down in their presence with a worried expression on his face; his hands tightly gripped the Swallow, though they seemed dumb in their grasp. The air became quiet at this point; Magus smiled to one corner of his mouth, while Serge increasingly worried about the situation. Though he detected something wonderfully strange and exciting about the experience, he was nonetheless overwhelmed by a sense of danger, fearing a young death by two supposed Terminian sadists. Magus, however, was wholly looking forward to the situation; he hardly ever had the chance to spar, let alone cultivate skill in a "student" (even though such cultivation, in this case, would merely be recovering memory). Serge stuttered.  
  
"What ... are you doing?"  
"Serge, those memories of yours are real," Gaspar replied.  
"Can't be. You're crazy!"  
"I'm quite sagaciously the opposite, but whatever, as they say. My friend here is going to show you that your memories are real, and the demonstration will be quite real itself."  
"Don't mess with me!"  
"What?" Magus interjected. "Are you going to use that chintzy weapon to kill us if we dare challenge you? Heh...the Black Wind isn't blowing today, lucky for you. Come."  
  
Magus began walking toward Serge, who raised his Swallow and protested the march. Magus would not cease, however, much to Gaspar's excitement. Beads of sweat rolling from within his bandana, Serge fashioned his weapon into striking position. Still, Magus continued; Serge wondered what it would be like to kill a man, as this 'fool' approaching him would "certainly meet a fate of death." Fully confident in his limited abilities, Serge mentally prepared himself for the swing. It was not to be that easy, however – Magus, in the blink of the quickest eye, jet forward and struck one of the Swallow's two blades with such ferocity that the weapon, in its far-reaching recoil, took its wielder with it. A sharp contrast from the speed of the blow, the pace of Magus slowed as he once again approached Serge, who, having been knocked to the sand, now stood in wonderment and disbelief. The pause did not last, however – Serge reached within his vest, snapped an object and cried out.  
  
"Fireball!"  
  
Magus at once sniggered, and received double satisfaction – one pleasure was in seeing Serge use a form of magic, and the other in the snap of his own fingers that, summoning the Water element, canceled out the crude Dragonian Element in a split-second. Such was the difference, he ruminated. Innate magic users, born with the biological and genetic ability to control the four basic elements of Heaven, Water, Wind, and Fire, could exploit the natural world in far more ways and to much greater extents than crude Dragonian Elements, mere tools that invoke a set response in nature rather than drawing upon the four elements that compose it. He could not contain himself at this length, and began laughing, perhaps at affirmation of his current superiority over the legendary arbiter, who had begun to wonder if his Fireball Element had failed.  
  
"Tsk...you'll have to do better than that," Magus commented.  
  
Serge's eyes took on a luminous gloss, as if something within his mind had been stirred.  
  
"I'm a bit familiar with these tricks," he continued, removing something from within his clothes. "This particular one should produce a steady blast of Magma, should it not?"  
  
His tactic worked. Serge, fearing the nasty Red Element, broke out in a dash toward the Zealian wizard in an attempt to stop its use. Magus immediately regained control of his short swords and held them out in preparation for a straightforward attack; Serge, however, rotated his Swallow in a quick, windmill-like fashion. Notwithstanding, Magus evaded the maneuver and wailed upon Serge's Swallow as he passed by, knocking him once more to the sandy beach. He rolled away from the wizard and stood, engaging in combat again. This proceeded until Serge became somewhat exhausted; Gaspar smiled at this point, observing the recall of the young man's fighting ability. He now reached inside his vest again; the duel had roughed him up lightly, the most visible effect being a few drops of blood around a shave on his knee.  
  
"Who are you?" he muttered.  
"Someone who knows your potential and past life, Serge. Heh..." Magus answered, while readying his swords.  
"You crazy...bastards. Leave me alone!" Serge cried. "Hellbound!"  
  
Gaspar instantly rose from his rock seat at the mention of this tech, expressing much alarm and focusing with a piercing gaze upon Magus. Hellbound was a technique used to destroy an enemy's existence by sucking one in through waves of energy; this became apparent as the area around Magus began to circle and flash. A look of surprise – rare for the mage – washed over his face; it soon gave way to a smirk as he formed a triangle in the air with rapid movements of the hand. At once, the natural three elements collated to allow Magus mastery of Shadow; as he masterfully dissipated the Dragonian Element, he cocked his head toward Gaspar and remarked that he was close – that the memories were as bubbles struggling beneath a thin sheet of warming ice. The statement was soon confirmed; following up the unexpected high-level tech release, Serge unleashed an amazing amount of fury in the form of several advanced Swallow slashes. Apparently, his conscious doubts had been rendered quiet by the gravity of the dangerous situation, allowing his skills to surface at last. Magus exerted himself considerably to deflect these blows, and relaxed once all of his energy was spent. The torrent of offense signified the breaking of the mysterious veil that had locked the young man's memories away. Satisfied, Gaspar and Magus exchanged glances, and met midway twixt their distances.  
  
"That was entertaining. We've done it, old man?"  
"Yes. A little violent, Janus, but the barrier has been removed. I know not what's going to occur after this point, but hopefully the memories may be accepted by Serge's current, unknowing conscious."  
  
The sun had begun to retreat, lending an orange hue to the sky.  
  
"...Do you think..."  
"That he'll recall something about Schala instantly? Look at that tired young man. He is spent, and if I made an educated guess, I would say that they shall trickle in, one by one, as one fragment leads unto another."  
  
Magus remained silent; though a sunset did not yet dominate the atmosphere, he regardless stared towards the luminary in contemplation. At once, Gaspar recalled the immense attachment for Schala and trepidation Magus had for this event. A strange sense pervaded him, barely tingling his body. He grasped for its meaning, and glanced at the wizard's face – beholding a visage of tired determination. The feeling was revealed immediately – it was perfectly symbolized in the approaching sundown.  
  
It was that of the fulfillment of a dream, or purpose. All know, Gaspar surmised, the enthusiasm and eagerness experienced by those dreamers upon the day they forge new objectives and fiercely vow to complete them; however, he could only guess at the nature of purposeful achievement. Was this death for Magus, in some form? His life had been totally dedicated to the search for Schala. Wisdom lay in the examination of that purpose...it had indeed been self-assigned, Gaspar knew, but what were its bitter roots? Did Magus merely feel loyalty to those of blood relation, or did he perhaps feel that Schala was his only true confidant in the vast world? Hints of answers to these were far beyond reach, locked away in the intricate, labyrinthine corridors of Magus's calculating mind, but higher wisdom seemed to be on tap. Magus truly fought for these things, as his mission was his life. Was this only due to the boredom he would face without challenge? Nay, something that simple and humanistically debasing was an elementary answer that missed the point. Had the fight for Schala, and life itself, become more important than the roots? Than the cause of this matter? In struggling, Magus could assert that he lived in a world comprised of half-waking, half-dreaming, and half-loving persons. These were people who would never attain a state likened to Zeal's. No one on the planet could attain perfection in this life – but some dreamers strived. Was this not perfection in itself?  
  
Would actively dreaming and striving of regaining Fiona and her gift of love allow Gaspar peace and fulfillment in the struggle alone? The causes did not matter, even down to the last – for prior to Gaspar's meeting Fiona, he had been the same person, a sage and dweller at the End of Time. It could be reasoned that her relationship was meaningless – but, on this note, could it not be asserted that Gaspar's life was equally without purpose? For the universe exists, ebbing and flowing as an eternal tide – where was the guru's meaning in this?  
  
With tears forming in the duct of his eyes, Gaspar made his conclusion. It was not that reality was meaningless, or that his existence bore no relevancy to anyone or anything but himself. It was that, as a man with a free, recognized conscious, Gaspar had the power to humanly define his own purpose in his life, and feel as much zeal and reward in striving to reach it as he pleased. The terrors might be great, and the hardships excruciating, but they would have meaning – to Gaspar, and to Fiona. Purpose – purpose is what we make for ourselves. It is entirely under our control to complete, alter, and abandon. We are truly the masters of our own destinies – and this was everything.  
  
He would fight for Fiona. He would carry his quest its entire length, spanning dimensions and only halted by his own limits, physical and mental, which were also pushed as the journey lengthened. And if he failed, he would die with a grin on his face, knowing that he fought bravely, and was true and honest to himself.  
  
He felt as if he were a god upon Opassa Beach, staring into the boundless sky. At last, he turned to Serge, and began building an encampment for the night with zeal.  
  
**Notes**  
  
I pray this may represent a more mature work over Gaspar Collection I.; the theme of the resolution of Chrono Cross is more present. The Gaspar Collection as a whole deals with the state of the world after Chrono Cross, and shall go hand-in-hand with an upcoming article on the subject. If you see any discprepancies between the fanfiction and theories on the site, let me know, as I wish for my fanfiction to be fully consistent with our findings and the mechanics of the Chrono series. Thanks for reading, and I hope you've enjoyed.


	3. III Echo of the Flame

Gaspar Chronicle III. Echo of the 

Softly, but deeply, the thunder rolled across the plains of the central continent, ushered in part by the longest night of nights, and a drifting rain that aimlessly wandered in search of a realm it had forgotten. The stars, though covered by the dreary, but tender mists, were nonetheless present, overseeing from regions faraway; strikes of lightning emanated a power – though not malicious, it was a declaration of strength – strength with beauty; strength with kindness; strength that demanded respect, and caressed those who gave it. It was currently set about creating a nocturnal symphony of showers and rumbles – a serenading duet between the land's patter and refreshment from the azure drops, and the heavy, weeping sky. How might something so simple and natural to the inhabitants of the land feel so eternal? As when one gazes at the stars, to hear the gentle storms had an effect on the soul – one of familiarization with the unknown; a sense of completion, and wholeness with the world. It was indeed a mild tempest that granted godly repose, for since its oncoming and hiding the crimson sunset, it had forced the laborers inside to contemplate their place among the world; it had driven couples inside, to ponder their relationships; it had provoked scholars to crack books of deeper resonations; it had doused knights, whose fortitude lavished in its proud standing in the rain; and lastly, it had caused a drifter – a noble vagabond, carrying a name etched upon the hearts of many – to cease his midnight walk, and return to his humble, but warm abode – to feel the weakness of his aging body, and the crystallization of his antique mind – to sit in his armchair, polish his sword, and mildly marvel at the inherent beauty of nature outside.

The winds from paradise brushed across his window, as they brushed across his mind; he could not rest, but neither was he content to simply watch the subtle symphony of thunder beyond the walls; with each drop of rain, and the sound of it washing across the landscape, he remembered another memory – ones small, ones meaningful, and those most poignant of all. It seemed to him that, in the reflection on each azure drop of pale light filtering through the murky clouds and the instantaneous flashes of lightning, he could see the face of each acquaintance he had met, and the expression mutually retained from the relationship. Clear was the anguished, fading smile of the paladin – the trustful glance of the hero, and the accepting glee of the heroine – and finally, the sneer of the contemptible one, and his later gaze of respect. Every memory had surfaced, and now lay at his fingertips, summoned by the drones of the falling rain; his spirit had metaphorically become the epicenter of the storms around, as each recollection and reminiscence whirled in representation. The grip of his hilt awakened yet more – as did the somber reflection of a lone candlelight upon his sword's blade. What could he want, he wondered, in a moment such as this? He felt as if he would enjoy being absorbed by every memory; living each one through once more, but this time, living it fuller than before – spending no second half-awake. Yet, these memories were as dreams to him now; the powers of time which had strengthened him had also cut him off from younger days – for he could feel the dirt of planting season of the last few years, but yet his initiation into the Knights of the Squaretable was distant – far beyond the mists that hovered behind his village view port; aloof, completely unreachable, remaining only as images – perhaps, someone else's.

He recalled such images plainly; there he stood, before going home forever, in the expansive forest; the requiem for the green revolution that took place over four hundred years sung defiantly against the march of time, as leaves swirled in majestic triumph – nurtured by the soil, rather than undone by it. There, he had found Elysium – a small moment of peace; the rarest thing – for even his greatest supposed memories were tainted; the face of the Paladin had forever warped to one twisted in pain; the stance of the hero seemed permanently crucified against the blinding light of the death god; the touch of the wizard was frigid eterne. Yet, amongst those grassy waves, sheltered by verdurous trees that stretched ever upward to bind with heaven in leafy union, he was content – content to simply observe the dancing of the branches, the busywork of the insects, who had multiplied to augment the wondrous life cycle of the forest, and the clouds above, barely visible through the brush. He could lie there forever – buried, perhaps, in a grave beneath the greatest oaks, pines, and spruces. He would watch forever – time would be nothing; the trees would court his lifeless eyes, and the birds would daily provide melody that spelled a never ending veneration – not for the knight himself, but to his recognition of beauty – for few in this world truly pause to examine the world around them, and become caught within it – allured by the overwhelming spectacle of mere nature.

But was this not contradictory? The bones in his body were rapidly micro fracturing; his muscles took daily increase of wear, while his mind slowly succumbed to the deep haze of deterioration – but the forest still lived! He had captured its beauty, as it had uplifted his heart; why then, must he die, and lose the day forever? Was there no justice, even in those with such perspicacity and appreciation of the gift of life? The answer was the same each time, for the rain continued to fall, unrelenting in its descent onto the meadows and trees, just as his sword could not be held forever – just as his tired eyes would, saggy, close and reopen, albeit the oncoming blurriness of vision – just as his head would fall into the pillow; alone, cold, and lifeless, for he had no celestial woman to cry to, and reveal his vulnerability for healing – even in old age. Like the rain, his tears would wet the cloth of no lover's bosom, but be wasted on heartless ground. And though this would plant the seeds of food in both regards, man cannot live on bread alone.

But it continued. The rain fell.

As the sage once said, to what doth this portend?

What did it mean, that the rain would fall regardless of its receiver? That the old philosophy of man living as he dreamed – alone, were true? Nay; it could not be, for verily, he had shared the dreams of many, and confided in several a noble breast. Was it that – like the rain, he would lie awake many sleepless nights, gazing upwards aimlessly, ready at any time to succumb to the night, and be forever enshrined within that viridian Elysium, but the sunset refused to come? That even on the most difficult days of his retired life, he could not lay down his heart, but would remain breathing, even unto sleep? For the rain had no mind of the ground it fell upon, cherishing only its beauteous freefall from the aura-filled atmosphere through the wind driven air; priding in its spiraling ever downward, with crystal gleam on its clear form. Even the rain met its end of its journey, splashing on the cooled ground, but it kept on, traveling region to region, and forming anew in the seas of the coast. This was beauty, indeed – a beauty with limitless fortitude; a beauty that marched on regardless of its spectators and obstacles, fully believing in itself, and meeting its end with a valor that no night or bony fingers might ever enwrap.

Beauty in death – the fight for the eternal – this was the meaning of the rain! The knight's eyes flickered at this realization, as a chorus of thunderclaps outside congratulated his progress in confronting his own mortality. It is indeed difficult to convey simplicity; even Cyrus met a gruesome end as the rain, left to rot beneath a ruthless sun, but he met it with bravery and complacency. He knew his place among the world; a hero, a beacon to all of righteousness and gallantry, but more importantly, he knew himself best of all – the limits of his strength, the number of his days, and the strength of his will, which would be everlastingly carried in the tongues and blades of all noble warriors and lovers to follow him. Was Cyrus thus immortal, even in charging to his death?

The images of his friend's pale face moments before being set aflame by the wizard darkened and stirred his heart, but more predominantly in his mind was Cyrus's pride – his empowering glances to admiring children, his reverential and serving bows to ladies of any upbringing, and his cherished smile given only to his closest acquaintances – one of true friendship, confidence, and mighty love; an appreciation of life, and acknowledgments of its hardships. Yea, Cyrus stood to his last moment, even calling out to his friend as blood seeped from his rent body. The knight once more allowed his eyes to gaze into his sword's reflection; in his own eyes, there stood these values – there stood his friend.

Cracking his knuckles, the aging man heaved the sword upright, and stood up, stabling himself on the wobbling blade. At last, he breathed; the winds from paradise once more swelled in his lungs, cooled his cracked face, and held him upright in the breezy cottage. At once, he sauntered to the door and gently pushed it open; the rain greeted him in faint sheets, nearly replenishing his age by virtue of soft, tender chilled moisture. Summoning the deepest reserves of his strength, he placed the Masamune into his back-sheath, and stepped out into the godly, misty darkness, his eyes twinkling upon the reflection of the lofty lightning in the benevolent clouds. He at once began to walk, starting for the Cursed Woods he had long ago adored and sought refuge in. And as Glenn entered the pantheon of the midnight shower, he thought to himself...though he knew not the answer to the question of the eternal; the immortal – he would stand, and proudly live, no matter how close his earthly demise lay at hand. He knew that among the drops, Cyrus and Leene were hovering near in silver vapors, lightly stroking his cheek in friendship and love, easing his mind with the gentleness of the rainfall. He would die – this he knew – but he would not die a decrepit, ailing man who condemned his past as futile, but would succumb to the inevitable a knight – and ally himself with Cyrus; with the Kingdom of Guardia; with...

And the shadow faded into the dark foliage of the woods.

The campfire crackled and hissed as the deadwood met a useful end; fuel was added as the flame grew dim, sending a few sparks to scatter upon the moonlit beach. The night was brilliant; for a full moon, the ocean was unexpectedly calm, allowing one to glance for miles at its reflection of the night sky; the surf sprayed calmly, while the sand became a somniferous, shifty bed to all. No artificial light was present; Arni lay far beyond the grassy, palm-treed hills that rolled into the mainland, and patrolling ships of the Porre nation had submitted to the restful night themselves, content to ride the smooth waves of the gentle sea. Among the trio, one had long since laid his head upon a worn rug on the sand and sailed his vessel beyond the sea into the realms of vagaries; by him stood a tall, robust man, with wavy hair, who leaned upon quaint greenery; though not asleep, he had nonetheless entered into a trance, induced by the salty scent of the rolling sea, and a familiar darkness which covered the earth. Only the eldest one remained lucid, with waking eyes, focused on feeding his meager source of light to ensure it lasted the remainder of the dark. As he fed more flames into the fire, he questioned the forces growing within his own heart; since his declaration to himself and the world of his intent to save Fiona, or meet an end in fully trying, he had become somewhat apprehensive. The stars themselves took a near-hostile quality; it seemed that Gaspar was striving to disrupt the natural order – fate, some call it – and selfishly extract from it what he desired. He pondered this hesitation, though never did he falter – for each doubt was reinforced with an image of Fiona; she was everything that he had left to gain and love in the world. The quests of both heroes were complete; the End of Time was dissolved. He was liberated, bound to no will but his own and that of Magus's, who shared a similar goal, and in this freedom he stumbled courageously.

Freedom – it was a necessity; a simultaneous gift of life and death – and yet, it felt foreign to him. He had long been bound by senses of purpose that were not of his own creation; he recalled being appointed the Guru of Time, and immersed in the sciences – in creating the End of Time, and becoming tied to that land – in discovering the intent of the Entity to right history. Even the smallest items of interest had once held him and demanded his attention, giving him purpose, but nonetheless binding his wrists – for regardless of the successful application of Shadow Magic to wood gardening techniques in Zeal, for example, he would remain unchanged, retaining timeless worries and hopes. At once, a star fell on the horizon; it was barely visible amongst the moonlit waves, but Gaspar had the eyes of an eagle. He at once made a wish, as a small breeze rustled the foliage on the empty beach, and whispered in his ear. Feeling a tinge of confidence in the astrological phenomenon, the sage made his wish – to be free, with Fiona. Despite his doubts, he would trudge on; though he did not surface this notion to lucidity, he knew that at some points in his spanning life, it was simply more interesting and positively enthralling to make a rash, courageous decision and ride the crest of the consequences; this was not necessarily because the courageous option was righteous in some form, but simply different from the normal ongoings of the world. He once had an Enhasian dream of a godly person, who imparted the words, "Under the courageous, there is nothing –"and indeed, he would hope to be as daring and brave as he could, believing in himself. What troubled him, as he looked up towards lunar auras, was the ever-present question – he could be fearless, but could he have courage even unto death?

A cricket chirped; the sleeping, blue-haired boy turned to one side, and then sat upright. His hands reached his eyes instantaneously, brushing away particles of dust and sand. As his blurred vision sharpened, the blinding light of the fire reassured him of safety; he at once remembered the events of the previous day, and where he currently lay. He immediately noticed the static wizard leaning in repose, noted by the increase in heartbeat; second to his ken was the sagely Guru, staring upwards with a blank look upon his creased face. At once, Serge's nostrils filled with the scent of the salty sea – the smoke of the seething fire – and the comforting hints of beauty in the open, night air. Gaining his senses, he immediately peered high as well, content to merely locate the object of Gaspar's eye.

"See something in particular? That's Parai, a bit to the right of the moon," Serge commented.  
"Nay," the Guru muttered. "I am simply floating in thought, as most men my age do."  
"I know how that can be – adrift," Serge faded.

Serge was now lost in his own continuum of thoughts and ponderings, adrift in a sea reminiscent of the water in which the dimensions were split, years ago. This much he remembered, and more; mere fragments of a dream, in which his role became more apparent with each revelation of memory. And his mind's tide was rising...

"Gaspar, you – you told me earlier, you were a Guru of Time, in a faraway land."  
"Yes? That was long ago, but I was," the sage spoke.  
"Well, did you see anything...can you tell me anything about my history? I mean, surely, you've seen–"  
"Serge, no—"  
"Events here and there; I keep having memories of things – I know I did some terrible thing to the world; split it in half or something – I remember these dragons, towering over me and seeking my life—"  
"Your memories are coming back to you, Serge. I cannot interfere in their return, or the shock may be too much for you."  
"But Gaspar, I feel – I am divided; it's like I'm peering into someone's journal!"  
"Indeed, your attitudes towards things might have differed then and now; soon, you will accept that you truly did these things. Your acceptance is your choice."  
"No, it's just that it seems like I've lost the world – that I lost myself, who I am; I gave it up—do you know what it's like to – to just lose yourself? All sense of being?"

Gaspar's eyes shifted; though he indeed considered the loss of Fiona a loss of his being, as his sole purpose was now to find it – he continued to weigh the possibility of a mental breakdown on Serge's part. If Magus was correct, and Serge would contain vital information on the fate of Schala and the occurrences at the Darkness Beyond Time, he could not risk losing the memories. However, he simply longed so deeply for a similar spirit to share his trouble with – he would take the risk.

"I would suppose I do..." he was reluctant to continue, and depended on Serge's further questioning.  
"Please, tell me. Anything. I've got to know—"  
"I lost a love. My love...she was pulled from my grasp. Serge, if you remember, you were somewhat responsible for splitting the dimensions. My love...she originated from another dimension, similar to ours, yet flawed – a dimension relevant to the being Lavos, that was destroyed. I narrowly escaped it, not knowing how I arrived there."  
"A love? You mean, a woman?"  
"A woman I loved. Janus too; his sister, the only one he is truly able to confide in and have any shred of real love for, similarly disappeared. "  
"Gaspar, what was her name?"  
"Fiona...and Janus's sister, she was Schala."

At once, Serge's eyes darted to the upper left corner of their emplacements, as his mind scoured every depth of its corridors. A hand shot to his forehead; he rested it on his knee, and began taking heavy breaths. Like bubbles erupting from a vent on the sea floor, images of memories shot through his head; a girl with outstretched hand; a flight during a full moon; a brilliant, depressing sunset beyond a stone arch – he drowned in them. His actions pierced the serenity of the night; Gaspar now was fully attentive, his rationality returning to him in full; he had earlier finally concluded that Schala must have repressed Serge's memories for his own protection. The risk had been taken, and lost, for it seemed that deep, rooted memories had been triggered by the mention of Schala – a keyword central to Serge's past life. Present in his mind was some essential fact that linked the many faces of the adoring and lively girl he had traveled with, and the beautiful woman linked to the beast at that dark place he feared and could not think of – but it escaped him, hidden beyond an invisible barrier within the mind, locked only by time and healing. And if that were the prerequisite, why, Serge would calm himself, and submit to the realms of dreams in patience. It was not worth the pain of festering a wound; Gaspar knew this as well, for it seemed that all internal injuries were healed not by a majestic feat of the intellect, but the quiet passage of time; the adjustment to new circumstances under which operation could proceed. But love...love defied all reason, and all healing. Forever, he would have an absence in his soul; a void, unable to be sated by anything, save the impossible – and surprisingly enough, this gave his life further meaning, and provided hardy support to his will to live. He at once wished to share this reinforcement.

"Serge, are you all right now? I didn't mean to provoke your memory," Gaspar moved.  
"No, it's fine...it's just, so much of my memory is attached with all these emotions that...that I've never experienced so fully in my normal, boring life. It's...overwhelming..."  
"Serge, you might possibly have the most eventful life of anyone on this planet. Just let it come to you."  
"I am...but I think of my life in Arni. How could it ever compare?"  
"A lucky life! You are able to fish, build your dreams, and live freely. I know several men who would die for that opportunity."  
"It isn't enough. I've caught every fish in the sea. It feels so empty..."  
"Reconciling differences is another process you must permit to take place. Until then, put forth your best effort not to worry. Disowning a part of your life...it is disastrous, and rash."

Gaspar thought back to the End of Time, which had been reduced to nothing but mere mists and fog, as it was when he found it. His own lack of content had destroyed it, for he refused to accept his conditions. Though such an act of defiance in the face of fate was to be admired as a courageous act and a viable means to alter one's destiny, it should not lead to such a severe destruction of the past – as put by the magician Sneff, he thought, when he gazed into the Flame – "I didn't know back then what I know now, so I have no regrets!"  
Indeed, he could not turn on himself, or evoke regret for things beyond his control.

Unfortunately, the glimmer remained constant – the feeling of freedom, and the increased ability and identity he gained by burning all his previously crossed bridges, and marching toward the horizon without a glance behind. Since leaving the End of Time to travel with the ill-contented Magus, Gaspar had found himself very much alive; the scent of ordinary flora delighted him once more, and he could nary go a day without gazing upwards to the sky to study the wide array of clouds and hues. Rather than lay a dreamer and sculpt vagrant wishes to fulfill distant, inherent goals, he had risen, and now quested directly for his desires and purpose. Now, he lay, a contradictory being – for he reasoned that he would gladly deconstruct the End of Time again, given the choice to fulfill his own journey, and search evermore. His scientific expertise implored him that Fiona was a lost cause; that he should retire, and concern himself with safekeeping time and, perhaps, passing on his knowledge to new gatekeepers – yet even if he failed in his quest, the mere fact that he tried – with all his being – fulfilled his purpose, gave him value, and allowed him to fulfill his goal regardless. Reality may linger coldly, but his efforts in establishing his personal paradise were an act of perfection themselves. Indeed, he would have his own Zeal, whether he tangibly grasped it or grasped at it in his lifetime.

Desiring to sleep in total peace, Gaspar wished to reinforce his vows a final time; he fumbled in his jacket for a few lines he had written on Fiona. Though never formally a poet, he found that love's inspiration wrote in his stead; he merely had to be its vehicle. The slip was found –

O, in what rose doth crimson so intensely dare  
To deeply radiate, than in thine silken hair?  
And were lie gleaming emeralds as richly bright  
As thine precious stare; thine viridian-glowed eyes?  
Can be found smoother outlines in clouds risen  
Than the gentle softness of thine tender visage?  
For thine pallor is sweet, more creamily white  
Than sea pearls, crafted by Neptune in godly might—

And here, it ended, for Gaspar did not know the various poetic structures he might further arrange his piece in, and neither had the drive of an artist to supplement and complete his inspiration with conjured devices. His eight lines were quite enough; an honest expression of himself – no more was required to express his love, and neither would artifice maintain the beauty these few lines created. To this end, he was perfectly content with himself; he was a fighting dreamer, full of vigor and vision of the future, and was ready to succumb to a night's sleep which too played a part in his quest. He glanced once more at Magus, and wondered; could a more torn, dashing, interesting, and unimaginably strong person be found across the timelines and dimensions? Images of other Maguses searching for Schalas and, perhaps, other siblings came to him; the altruism experienced earlier in the day had finally become manifest as a friendship. As a generally arcane, esoteric person belonging to a civilization long silenced by the years recounted by the sea, Gaspar admitted that he had little confidants and trusted friends in his life – and now, a warm feeling entered his heart as he recognized the value of Magus.

The wizard himself remained upright against the palm tree, his arms crossed and his head resting with his chin on his chest. As Gaspar contemplated relationships and values, Magus too was without his regular mental defenses, which ushered him toward Schala – he lay almost enticed in fantasies he was shaping in a semi-conscious state; he dreamt of new planes of existence, and life after finding Schala – a concept utterly foreign to him, as it had dominated his thoughts for the last thirty years. Never had he been this close to achieving his goal – never had the dream that his dream itself desired been reached – that of realization. The wall of pure determination erected long ago stood so thick that he could naught see beyond it; in this manner, freeing Schala – the only person he had ever truly loved; the one who valued him most as a human being; the girl who so innocently and protestingly fulfilled the wishes of evil in the name of family obedience – was death – death for his purpose, his actions, and his normal behavior. He had always been ready to die for Schala, and let her name escape his last breath into cold air – but was he ready to live? Yet, the Magus, long accustomed to impossible situations surmounted by pure fearlessness with a smile, entertained the concept of bravery. Whatever lay beyond that door, he would plunge into it, and perhaps evolve into a greater being.

Belthasar's journal lay heavy in his pocket; the Guru might be able to assist him in these thoughts, as he often visited and counseled Janus in Zeal. Whether he did it out of a kind spirit, or perhaps knowledge that Janus would one day, assuredly, become a mighty individual, could not be known – and neither could anything else be, in this state. He flashed his trademark grin at the notion, though the moon clearly reflected on his face that, for the first time, hints of doubt and uncertainty were present. Caressing his face, it also observed him drift into pure slumber – away from Schala, from Zeal, from that woman – and into regions far and close, entirely new and enchanting. Gaspar too joined him in this reverie, his declaration of autonomy hours ago at last silencing his nightmares. Only Serge remained turbulent in sleep, but even he was freely drifting in the quietly rolling blue, stretching and soothing 'till the end of time.

The dream world had been particularly benevolent to the party, for each awoke with full reserves of energy when the sun peaked beyond the horizon; Magus's eyes twitched, though he remained upright to observe the others, while Gaspar and Serge groggily stood up and peered at the sunrise. A strange look of reunion and depth lay in Serge's piercing eyes, while Gaspar too reflected his own recognizing the day and his obligations to his dream. Drawing a sizable breath, he let the ocean-blessed air permeate him, and realized the vast feeling of power given to him by the night. He silently unpacked a satchel from Termina, not wishing to disturb the peaceful morning air, and produced three sandwiches and beverages. Softly eating, he was startled when Magus, noticing the lack of an invitation, moved from his sleeping position to Gaspar swiftly and grabbed food. Serge, hearing the resulting, also took his meal, but returned to a seating position and continued to stare into the sky in all directions.

Upon finishing his snack, Magus began to prepare Serge's small fishing boat. Gaspar motioned to grasp his poem once more, but decided against it, wanting to face the day anew without the presence of too many anchoring memories. Serge similarly noticed the readying of his vessel, but could only care somewhat; dreams had given him the pleasure of staring the last Hydra in the eye, chasing a strange boy upon Sky Dragon Isle, and – the most profound – sailing into the night sky towards a giant, floating palace, with utter excitement on his face. Though a part of him wanted to continually dismiss these impossibilities (either stemming from Schala's lasting repression or his quiet life in Arni speaking), suggesting that he could have never transcended the sky his eyes were gazing upon. Yet, the air itself – timeless and eternal – told him that he flew, and this was enough.

Gaspar spoke.

"Well, Janus, where to?"  
"To Zeal..." Magus responded, correcting himself. "We're going to the Sea of Eden."  
"Very well," Gaspar answered, noticing Magus's detachment from his normal character and pessimistic behavior. "Is there a plan behind this action, or are we simply going hunting?"  
"It has told me that our greatest asset lies there."  
"What? What exactly informed you, and what are we looking for?"  
"Yeah," Serge piped in. "Some travelers complain of weird lights there. Never heard of anything tangible to be found, though."  
"Gaspar, you of all people should know. Take one of your creations – how might we control time with it?"

Gaspar immediately knew that he was referring to the Frozen Flame. The legend had been created in Zeal, perhaps by his hand; it was theorized that the Frozen Flame, coupled with a device such as his Time Eggs, would grant the user control over time. Chuckling, Gaspar remembered the Time Crash, albeit it was planned to purposely fail by the Prophet of Time.

"The Frozen Flame? You really think –""Agh...what?" Serge's eyes immediately closed as the mention of this artifact exploded within his mind, further opening neural pathways.  
"Come on, Gaspar. That's why the Sea of Eden was picked for Chronopolis; the Flame resided there until it was extracted."  
"I suppose that's fine, but what effect will it have? Its owner is dead," Gaspar quoted, referring to Lavos.  
"Lavos may have been vanquished, but we have yet to see if the Flame retains its own power and vitality. Let us depart – that is, if you're ready?"  
"Eh, up to it Serge?"  
the Guru commented. "Yeah, I'll be fine. We need to get started...ouch. The seas...the flow will be a bit unfavorable, but we can get there easily enough."

The eagerness and happy furor that accompanies any start of a journey was not denied presence among the trio, as the heart leapt in each – Magus continually becoming more persistent in mind with each falling grain of sand of the hourglass. With a great heave, the ship was launched – a chariot of zealous dreamers, sailing to fulfill life and affirm their existence. Magus might have easily floated to the destination, but the ship offered him a degree of peace likened to the night before. Gaspar too wished to exploit this time of sailing, drawing from within his ornate robes a pen and the slip of paper on which his poem was contained. He stared at it – in what would become a process of meditation, rather than writing, he pondered his thoughts for Fiona and the possibility of having her back – for he had always been in a depressive state, wishing only for her, but now that the opportunity was readily available, he was somewhat unsettled and shakily expectant, perhaps believing the possibility was a lie, or merely not ready to abandon his state of sadness and wistful days. This always posed a problem to him; when the original heroes stood poised to depart the End of Time forever, he felt a tinge of sadness – perhaps wishing that the quest would be eternal; that he might always confide and assist Crono, whose journey in overcoming the adversary would be never-ending. It was ironic to wish to extend a project such as that – but, Gaspar supposed, finishing dreams and reaching closure just might demand as much effort as launching them with burning eye.

The waves sauntered past the prow of Serge's wooden vessel, lazily relaxing and upholding the craft in the groggy, morning light. The owner of the ship continued to stare into the sea as he directed the ship, undoubtedly accessing and dealing with new memories of his past life as a savior of the world. Gaspar could not fathom the experience Serge was undergoing, or compare his own strength in dealing with emotional turmoil – for could he have dealt with the news that his entire life had been masked, or be baked beneath the guilt and horror at the resurgence of memories and regret? Nay, it would cause him deep affliction and sorrow, as if time itself were destroying potential by revealing an unknown, weighty past. He recognized that Serge would have sleepless nights, and perhaps reflect the light of the stars on passionate tears – but he would be stronger. The past alone could not kill Serge, or steal any of his current glory; it was ultimately his courageous choice how to live – and even whether to live. Almost in response to the Guru's thoughts, Serge raised his head upward and began to stare at Magus, who, despite his strangely uplifted spirits, remained stony during most of the voyage – whose status now lay midway between the main continent and the Sea of Eden.

Magus had long had the ability to detect a pair of eyes trained in his direction, but the interested stare of the Swallow-wielder did not upset him mildly. It was a rare time in the wizard's life – not unique, though only experienced a handful of other instances. Trepidation hardly visited Magus, only shaking him when cosmic forces were at work or stake; he recalled trembling as the Mammon Machine's power was raised – shaking with delight as he began to chant the last few syllables in his Lair – and uneasily anxious as he awaited Lavos in the Ocean Palace once more, dressed in a prophet's regalia. Reluctant to be honest, his mind hinted that even now, it came as surprise that his quest for Schala may be so soon completed; the excitement disrupted his composure, and irked him slightly, but he could readily agree within that no feeling could compare with that of expectant dreams. The majesty of the sea and the sky evoked images of Zeal, and playing happily with his sister without a true care in that enlightened kingdom. Even the blue hair of the hero peering at him reminded him of brighter days – and it thus lightly jolted him when its keeper spoke his name.

"Magus..." Serge uttered, receiving no acknowledgment. "I do not know why, and please forgive me – but these memories – some of them feature you."  
"Ah," the Magus lightly spoke.  
"Can you tell me why – that's what I mean to ask," Serge continued.  
"I'm sorry, but I was never part of your band."  
"What? No, I clearly remember—"  
"He's speaking of Guile, Janus," Gaspar chimed.

Magus softly bit his lip, and focused his eyes on the horizon.

"Guile?" Serge inquired.  
"Oh, don't look to me for answers, hah! I know as little about him as you do, Serge," the Guru continued. "And I don't believe Janus here is going to tell us anytime soon."  
"Oh! You do know about him!" Serge cried. "Please, tell me!"

Gaspar sighed, knowing the effort was in vain, while Magus's chest heaved as he drew in the scented air.

"Guile." Magus spoke, chuckling to himself; Gaspar soon realized his good attitude afforded conversation. "Serge, you wouldn't understand. Yet."  
"Tell me anyway! It might help me understand just to...hear," Serge replied.  
"Heh. Good luck. Gaspar," Magus said, turning to the Guru. "Do you not recall Guile knowing of old man Belthasar's project?"  
"Ah, yes! That was particularly puzzling. Did Guile fi—"  
"No, Guile was not with Serge. It wouldn't have worked otherwise."  
"Well, go on," Gaspar ushered. "You won't appear any less fearsome to us if you actually have a chat, you know."

Magus gave a cold glance at Gaspar, and then returned to his normal senses.

"Two days ago, you wanted to know how I knew of the Chrono Cross; of the Project Kid. As you could tell from your vantage atop the hourglass, I did not travel with this kid here. You could not see me at all – for when I departed to search for Schala for the first time, I examined the ruins of the Undersea Palace – and found the dwelling of Lavos. It had been rendered empty since that red-haired idiot aided me in destroying the creature, but I had never come to fully appreciate the home of Lavos, which essentially is a pocket dimension. And as I turned from my entrance and gazed into the auras, the history of the world lay sprawled before me – including the axis on which changes occur –"  
"Time Error,"  
Gaspar noted. "Yes. I saw Belthasar enter the future, and discover where my sister...was being held. I could not interfere with his plans, however; they were too intricately designed, almost stupidly complex. He would have instantly recognized me when he traveled to the modern era to locate potentials for helping Serge. Bekkler – I sought the wizard Norstein Bekkler out, the exile from Zeal who came to haunt celebrations. I had him clone me; this was not a play doll, as the clones of times past, but an actual person – imbued with my power. He was to be named Guile, and sent to observe the Project Kid, relaying his data ultimately to me at the end. And when this task was complete, I made a pact with Guile that he would be properly taken to the Darkness Beyond Time and cast into the chaos, so that his meaningless existence could be erased."  
"Obviously not the case. Go on," Gaspar ushered.  
"Yes. Guile's place in this world was a fabrication and with a limited purpose; he requested to me that he be erased from this life after his job was done. Accordingly, he was assigned to help Serge as would be required; on the eve of Serge's journey to the Darkness Beyond Time, he would steal away to Viper Manor, and magically duplicate his journal. He would then deliver it to Lavos's Pocket Dimension, where I awaited and did receive it. However, he did not come himself; I simply surmised that he had found another way to end his life, and did not seek to go to the Darkness Beyond. However..."  
"Yes," Gaspar spoke. "He said he was at the Manor, and was there again—"  
"I remember. Apparently he circumvented the entire issue of being disposed, and used the Neo-Epoch to remove himself..."  
"I know what you're getting at. If Guile activated the Neo-Epoch, he could extrapolate himself from the timeline, allowing Serge ample time to defeat the Time Devourer and merge the dimensions. At that point, he would return?"  
"Yeah, it seems that way. Guile didn't want to die, so he preserved himself in time..."

At once, Magus turned away to a view of a distant island; he observed seagulls heading for it above.

"I guess...he found a reason to live."  
"I would not wish to die either, Janus."

Gaspar paused at this quote, as it had slipped from his mind upon a blank thought. Truly, staring upon those azure waves, he knew that the mere sight of the morning dew – of flowers budding in a cooled breeze – would keep him grounded in this mortal coil, for even beauty was enough to charm a man and evoke his appreciation for the world, regardless of his nature and condition. The guru lay content at this thought, not wishing to wonder why Guile had chosen life – but merely entertaining the thought of being as a rose petal in the wind; free to enjoy life's pleasures, caress its softness, and fly in the world of dreams. Though initially frightened by these thoughts, as his heart knew that unless he were searching for Fiona, he would never be at peace with himself or his regrets – he also took peace in the vision of Fiona's Forest, the namesake of his love, illuminated and full of leaves dancing in the wind beneath the whimsy clouds of majestic azure-white.

The notion equally charmed Magus, who had long arrived at the conclusion that Guile had fallen in love with the pleasantries of the world, for he had always had a special care for its enigmas and mysteries, seeking whatever was labeled unattainable, or of priceless beauty in this plane of existence. Magus was feeling a rising trepidation within him as well, as he searched the possibilities of life with Schala – including the unthinkable concept of merely enjoying life with her, reunited and sipping a warm drink in total security and repose. He knew not what such a life would be, or whether he would be driven to madness by its boredom, or perhaps a hidden emptiness of achieving the goal; however, eons ago, a survival of the darkness ensured that he take the more courageous and interesting path, always shunting safety for a glimpse of something daring. He had stared the Black Wind, and felt its cold fingers animate his hair in many respects, such that he likened himself to a vessel being guided by it. His experiences had made him immortal in mind, and more yet may make him eternal in body, forever free to wander the world as he pleased – a royal prince of Zeal, having endured a thousand nights, and penanced for several sins, now loosed from his bonds and able to dream.

"There," Serge remarked, pointing to an opening in a wall of rock.  
"The Sea of Eden? Have the Pearly Gates ever been so wide?" Gaspar asked.  
"Yeah, Porrean officials blasted it open awhile ago. Where've you been?"  
"Not paying attention, apparently. Forward."

The Sea of Eden, a vessel of dreams in itself, and though retaining the Gate effect that at once passed the trio ten thousand years into the future upon their entrance within, shone invitingly; its smooth surface was calmed by its natural cradle of green, gleaming rock. The Zealian sage could not help but admire Belthasar's genius in the orchestration of Project Kid; while he relished in the glory of his peer, Magus and Serge continued to gaze forward, at once noticing a pillar jutting forth from the water at the center of the sea. The waves licked at its black base; it appeared to be a substantial spire of obsidian, reflecting the light in a paradoxical black and white sheen. And as the three came closer, a bit of gold came into view, revealing a rectangle plaque inscribed at sea level; above it, the hilt of a sword could barely be seen stuck within an angular side of the rock. What would have puzzled and confused other visitors piqued an immediate interest in Gaspar and his crew; Serge immediately tied the boat around one of the outcroppings, while Magus departed its wooden safety to float to the plaque. Kicking the boat near the gold-plated sheet of iron as well, Serge strained his eyes to make out the writing.

"Well, what does it say?" Gaspar asked.  
"I can't make anything out. This is weird stuff," came Serge's reply.

Magus returned to the boat, gracefully hopping from what seemed to be an airy platform into the vessel.

"I suppose you can't read it either?" Gaspar inquired, noticing Magus's look of disgust of speaking.  
"Don't go crazy on me, old man," Magus warned.  
"Whatever; it can't be that important. Probably some shrine—"  
"It is written in Graedian," Magus spoke, expecting a heightened response from the Guru.  
"That old system of writing, eh. I have even only used it a few times."  
"Yes, and Melchior inscribed lettering in it upon the sword in that rock."  
"What? Do you mean to say—" Gaspar began.  
"It reads, 'To those who know – I remember.' That is all."

Gaspar's face adopted a queer contortion as his fingers stroked his chin. He struggled to remember the creation of such a monument, or those who were capable in writing Graedian script, a form of lettering reserved for the royal family, their attendants, and the triumvirate of Gurus in Zeal. In seconds, Magus's previous statement struck his brain in full force, almost eliciting a vocal sign of realization.

"Janus, I ask you, please remove the earthen sheath of that sword."  
"Ugh..." he grumbled, though nonetheless answering the request.

At once, the air crackled with lightning as it was extracted from the base elements of the air and water around him. Forming a crude ball of energy, Magus directed a sudden bolt at the rock, blasting away in several chips the obsidian cover. A shower of sparks and black fragments disturbed the sea around the few, as Serge and Gaspar complained and took cover. After the fragmentation subsided, the Guru of Time raised his head and read the precise etchings on the bare sword.

"Melchior. So he succeeded," the old man coughed. Magus retained a steely gaze.  
"What? What's this all mean?" Serge asked.  
"Serge, it confirms what I had presumed for months. I say, what have the Acacia Dragoons been up to recently?"  
"Hey, you know they've been under a tight ban. I guess there's Glenn; he's always causing trouble with Porre, but three days ago he disappeared. I haven't heard anything since."  
"Hah! Serge, I think you have a companion in your predicament."  
"Eh? What about Glenn?"  
"He seems to have been in the same position as you were, but he apparently awoke from it, and escaped these trying times through the power of the Masamune. Oh, this grows more interesting by the second."

Gaspar's mind was alighted by this turn of events, for he was correct in his prior theorizing – Glenn had indeed been the third asset to Serge, aside from Kid, at the Darkness Beyond Time in their most difficult hour. And like Serge, Glenn had been released from these tumultuous and poignant memories, a life of free choice and will enabled. The Guru knew not how, and preferred this, but suspected that Glenn, as any brave, courageous, and trouble-faring hero of time would, likened to his namesake, the greatest knight to ever carry the code of chivalry, had found the Masamune – and it had awakened his memories, repressed by Schala out of her kindness. It had opened his eyes to the past, apparently evoking memories of a dream, or promise. Regardless, it seems Glenn, rather than stay and irritate the Porre force in a castrated order of nobility, had called upon the power of Masa and Mune themselves to seek another time. Though Gaspar's resolve could not be shaken, especially at this point in his journey, he did pleasure the thought of escape, wondering why Magus had not simply gone back to Zeal, and manipulated time to his own ends and living in perfect Elysium, and whether Glenn truly had sought out peace – or if he were actually riding forth in loud furor against a future or past event he believed should change. These were moot points, though Gaspar felt a certain wish that his friends, too, would struggle to live without regret as he was currently.

As it always had done, Magus's voice cut through Gaspar's thoughts as the sword he looked gazed upon had ruptured the Magic Cave defending the wizard's lair.

"No Flame."  
"Interesting, I wonder if the results of Cross have displaced it—"Gaspar began.  
"No...you're thinking of...some red object, right?" Serge asked.

Magus cocked an eyebrow, and stared at the blue-haired hero.

"You are the arbiter. Do you feel something?" Magus said, as a dark aura formed around his fingertips, amplifying Serge's senses.  
"Yeah...it's getting stronger. I don't know why, but its pretty deep," Serge commented.  
"Very well. It seems to be in its original place; it should be on the seafloor, partially buried. How will we descend?" Gaspar asked.  
"I have been to the Ocean Palace. I will provide the means," Magus revealed, as he began further manipulation of the elements.

The three soon descended, climbing down the spire beneath the surface of the water, for Magus had harnessed a technique also used by the famous Starchild during Serge's quest – that of emplacing an air pocket around a seeker, allowing breathing and keeping one dry. Gaspar's eyes were wide with wonder, as he had never had the chance to explore the deep; these reinforced his earlier thoughts – that natural beauty alone could ground a man in this world – and added zeal to his step. Serge, with each drop down the spire that Glenn had conveniently provided in accidence, grew more perturbed as he neared the floor; he could not deny that the ruby, crimson gem lay beneath him, and his wayward memories seemed to cry out in danger and fear as the tremors grew in magnitude. Magus too felt the waves of energy as they evoked within memories of standing too close to the Mammon Machine; he knew the Flame had been locked at its core, though never dared to touch it directly. At once, thoughts of his mother trickled through the cracks of his determination and forward thinking in this quest, and for the first time, he was able to stifle them without undergoing a serious bout of meditation. The alarm of this feat threw off his composure further, but he too began eagerly descending the jagged monolith amidst curious fish.

It indeed lay there, beneath the waves; Serge and Magus instinctively leapt downward to the exact spot from the spire, as Gaspar continued to safely make his way. The dirty they kicked by landing was enough to uncover a pale, eerie light that seemed to pervade the entire sea. It was the color of red staining – crimson, the red star of old, the eye of Lavos, and the essence of the Mammon Machine – and it drove the natural wildlife to the far corners of the sea. Magus's eyes alighted, nearly mystified by the artifact; Serge recoiled. It was Gaspar, however, who first approached the unearthed Frozen Flame, and set it upon a platform jutting from the base of the spire. Gurgled voices followed, Magus still intently gazing and Serge's head continuing to bother him.

"What...in the hell!!" Serge cried.  
"Janus, you're the most magically capable here. What's your plan?" Gaspar asked.  
"I'm...not sure," Came the response.  
"Well, you brought us here. I suppose we can use the Flame's power alone and inquire ourselves of finding Schala and...yes. I believe attempting a Time Egg fusion would not only be stupidly dangerous, but unnecessary."  
"Move. I'm the strongest one here. I should be able to deal with the Flame," Magus coldly commanded, as Gaspar at last recognized the power of his resolve.  
"Do not forget, Janus. It may be voiceless, as its master has been twice defeated."  
"Don't bother me."  
"Bah. Serge, are you all right?" Gaspar asked.  
"It's becoming clearer. I am going to rest for awhile," he said, lying on the shifty seafloor.  
"Quiet!" Magus yelled.

The palms of Magus's hands once again grew black with nightly auras, as he outstretched them on either side of the Frozen Flame. An occasional flicker of electric arc contacted his fingers from the Flame, and in one swift motion, Magus brought his arms together in a clapping motion and grasped the Flame with an wrapping, iron grip. The gem grew to a startling luminosity, nearly shining through the wizard himself, who powerfully struggled to retain his hold. Gaspar drew as near as he dared, wondering if the Flame truly did possess its own conscience and power, or was drawing it from a version of Lavos somewhere beyond the normal scope of time. After a minute of struggling, Magus uttered words; Serge, though lying on his side, maintained a clear focus on the exploding light.

"Where is Schala? I command you to answer me," Magus whispered.  
"Janus...Janus...Zeal," A chilling response came, resonating darkly within the ears of all. "Janus...see..." it continued.  
"You! You! You uuuuurgh!"

The disturbed water immediately reverberated with a rising yell of pure hatred from the shaking Magus, who now began unleashing torrents of elements in a maelstrom around the Frozen Flame, sinking into loathing and fear as he arranged the most destructive elements in a magnum opus of annihilation. Gaspar immediately withdrew his extending cane from Zeal, and smashed Magus over the head; the wizard fell to the seafloor in pain, rubbing the point of impact. The elements he had been gathering dissolved into steam and bursts of light around the Frozen Flame; his frightening display of power ceased. Gaspar feared cold, piercing eyes predating a retaliation, but instead Magus merely crawled near the spire grimaced with closed eyes. Gaspar maintained a defensive position, while Serge shifted his reeling head and dared to speak.

"What...just happened..." he asked.  
"I'm sorry. I cannot do this."  
"Janus, what has transpired?" Gaspar further inquired.  
"It hates me. He hates me; he will not answer me. He will merely show me what I fear the most; the carnage and vile abuse of my sister—"  
"Quite enough, but are you saying—" Gaspar was likewise interrupted.  
"He's there. I saw a rotting pile of flesh in the Darkness," Magus continued, holding back words expressing his desire to murder this half-sentient, decomposing being.  
"This can't be! The Time Devourer still exists in some form?" Gaspar asked.  
"Yeah, didn't I...destroy it?" Serge compounded.  
"There was no Schala; merely a shell of a Lavos, lying in ruin upon the platform of its own construction. It is there, and it can speak..."  
"Interesting. If it really is a Lavos, then it is no small wonder it refused to talk to you. I am going to try," Gaspar asserted.  
"What makes you think the bastard will speak to you?" Magus asked.  
"Unlike you, Lavos can speak to me rationally. He will not instantly put me off and anger me, but will probably try to trick me somehow. At least we can make some prog—"  
"Do it."

Gaspar nearly insisted on finishing his words, but understood the importance of this event. With a rising feeling of uneasiness in his stomach, he approached the Flame. Its glow reminded him of Fiona's hair, triggering all sorts of visions of both Elysium and pain; wishing for either, he continued to walk unabashed, and pressed his hands to the shell of the Flame. An answer came immediately.

"Gaspar...Gaspar—"  
"Skip it. I care not for seeing the fall of Zeal, or the rent bodies. I have something to ask of you."  
"..." a perturbation came.  
"Vile creature, tell me at once where Schala went, and how..."  
"Ahh...Fiona..."  
"No. I do not care for your illusions. Where are they? How might we reach them?"  
"You..." the Flame spoke, flooding Gaspar's face with such light that he squinted his eyes closed.  
"What?"  
"Schala...is far beyond a di...mensional veil...Fiona...is suspended there..." at these words, Magus jerked upright.  
"Yes, how may we procure them?"  
"No...trace...can reach Schala...forced release. Fiona...your hand..."  
"What is this? You are tracing Schala, and extracting her somehow? My hand?"  
"I need...your hand. I will...give Schala. Bring Janus..."

Magus immediately lurched at the Flame and slammed it with a fist to rival a steel piston, cracking its outer shell and splintering his knuckles with searing fragments.

"My name is Magus!"  
"Calm! We almost have what we need! J—Magus, just hold on!" Gaspar begged.  
"Yes...bring him."  
"What about Fiona?"  
"Need...mind. You will..." the light shone, increasing in intensity.  
"Continue!"  
"You will bring...your intellect...reduction...to baby."  
"What? Bring my intellect?"  
"You will...have mind of baby."  
"What? Reduction of my mind to a baby's?"  
"You...will have Fiona."

Gaspar's frustration at the slow, stumbling pace of the Time Devourer's disjointed speech was cast away instantly at comprehension of Lavos's demands; apparently, Magus was required to attend, most likely to be killed on the spot by a clever guile, while Gaspar, if he heard correctly, was to receive Fiona – at the price of losing his entire intellect, and becoming a mental baby. The pleasure and fulfillment of rescuing Fiona would thus be entirely lost, along with his purposefulness in life. Concepts and fantasies began to alter; what was the dream of lavishing in her freedom from the jaded dimension he was thrown to became a fragile ship, tested in the waters of magnanimity. The resolution that he would sacrifice his mind for her came immediately, but only a few are ever freed from the bonds of natural, instinctual denial. He was told by his body to abort the cause, and retreat; that she would not be worth losing his own cognizance, and that the Time Devourer would most likely have a crueler trap set for both of them, as Gaspar had led Crono and his band against Lavos in times passed.

How might he truly ever confront death, and the elimination of his capacity to think? The warning of his natural being increased to a fever pitch, trembling his body as he continued to think of the repercussions – for though he would save her, naught could he spend time with her, know that he saved her life, or even gaze upon the same natural beauty of the world and appreciate it fully. All would be changed; he would be but an infant in a sage's body, probably passing to death in due time. Would it be better for Fiona to perish, rather than endure such a cruel fate? Such was the ultimate revenge that Lavos could inflict on the aged Guru; the very force that had allowed him to reach respected heights and a position of positive, difference-making power in Zeal, and had aided him in surmounting the hourglass at the End of Time and guiding the Entity's chosen was to be taken away from him, leaving him powerless and decrepit. Magus would most likely be killed outright in the Darkness Beyond Time, inches within Schala; Gaspar fain wished to meet this end, dying in struggling lucidity, rather than pass into a time of darkness and latent misery. He would do it – for there was no turning back on his proud declaration of living without regret, and of seeking dreams, just as he could not turn down the opportunity to sacrifice his life to rescue one held dear – but thoughts that these actions were foolish and suicidal relentlessly mounted, shaking his composure and wounding his acting confidence. A single second of time passed.

"Let us depart, Gaspar!" Magus boomed.  
"Lavos! How may we come to you?" Gaspar asked, with an oscillating voice.  
"Shatter Time Egg on Flame..." the Flame whispered, dying in intensity.  
"Very well. This will work as it did in on your past journey, Serge. Everyone, gather near."  
"We're going?" Serge asked.  
"Yes. Magus, I must ask: are you fully prepared in every combative way?"  
"That rotting bastard could not begin to conceive of my powers," Magus coldly uttered.  
"All right. Before we leave, Magus, I have a magic request—"

Gaspar was interrupted, as Magus had read his mind. In order to circumvent the sleep-inducing effects of time travel that had been present of late, Magus gathered the water element, imbued with caffeinated and stimulating properties, and dispersed it to the hearts of Gaspar and Serge. Though they may feel slightly impulsive, their overall reaction time would increase, as well as their resistance to soporific energies.

"Do it. I am prepared for the void," Magus reiterated.  
"To accept death is to be liberated, eh? Here we go," Gaspar confirmed.  
"Wait – does the Time Devourer have the capacity to truly do this?"  
"I would say yes. Schala's quantum signature is residual in the Time Devourer; he could seemingly track which dimension she escaped to, if that is the case. As for Fiona, Lavos may retain a sort of dimensional awareness, as Fiona's world was a near-offshoot of this one. He may be able to see and find her too."  
"Let us wait no more."

Gaspar withdrew his backup Time Egg from within his deeply, majestically colored robes, and with substantial force mustered in his right arm, smashed it upon the Frozen Flame. The fragments instantly turned to small orbs of light; they began rotating in unison, forming a circular portal. The Flame, reeling from the impact of temporal energies and disturbances in spacetime, retracted into itself and turned a pale, blue color as if it were shriveling. It would soon be camouflaged with the earthen spire called by Glenn in the center of the Sea of Eden, perhaps to return beneath a shallow covering on the seafloor, but this spectacle was naught to be seen by the three travelers, who now were engulfed by the distortion. Gaspar immediately recognized a Gate of this caliber; it did not merely lead to a point in time, but to the eternal repository of temporal mishaps, changes, and violations; the hell of spacetime, whose physical interface was that of a chilling platform swept by cold winds. The lives and deaths of worlds, peoples and timelines drifted by transparently; one could easily see the anguished faces of those made extinct, frozen forever in the Darkness, as they were drawn into the vortex beneath the platform to become one with forever zero. Despondency, hopelessness – all were submerged undertones in this direct manifestation, a dreamless wasteland without escape. It had been the perfect base from which the Time Devourer would have launched the consuming of all the universe, had he been allowed to mature with the poor Schala, thrown here in the Ocean Palace disaster by a gargantuan dimensional distortion. And now, the remains – a spiked shell of red and black crusted flesh, adorned with one functioning eyeball – sat with broken limbs upon the platform, locked in boundless torture; for none can challenge the Darkness Beyond Time itself – and the Time Devourer, whose mission would have invalidated its purpose, now was bonded to it for countless eons, unable to even writhe in the cold pain of having been rent by the Chrono Cross and Serge's blade.

The trio felt these waves of sorrow, tempered by the dejected qualities of the darkness, as soon as they landed upon the platform on which Serge, Kid, and Glenn challenged evil three short years ago. Nearly convulsing, Serge recoiled at the sight of the broken Devourer, the final key in unlocking a torrent of memories that flooded his mind in an endless downpour. Magus's emotions were awoken as well, a special, maximal hatred that he had not felt since accompanying the hero, Crono, to the alien Lavos long ago. Gaspar was plagued by fear; the Darkness Beyond Time, without the terrifying images of discarded timelines, would be nearly indistinguishable from the End of Time – save that it would be the bottom of the hourglass; nay, not the few grains of sand, but the blackened woodwork which upheld it. Truly, it was a fitting place for Lavos, the exiled lord of destruction, to be condemned along with his insatiable ambition. His desires, however, would soon have the opportunity to be fulfilled to some degree. Magus was first to rise.

"Where is Schala?" he demanded.  
"Patience," came the reply.

The Time Devourer spoke with such resonance that even the icy platform beneath them was shaken and nearly fragmented. The creature began glowing where his tentacles once imprisoned the princess; a tangent of light erupted from them, beaming to a position on the frosty ground. Orbs of light began to rotate, signifying the coming of a Gate; flashing lightning soon connected with the perimeter of the distortion, and penetrated within. A faint, suspended figure could be seen appearing; a burst of electricity soon illuminated blue hair and a dashing, beautiful face. Magus's heart at once erupted in an unparalleled explosion of craving, love, and heightened senses; his hands were perturbed, causing his entire frame to quake. He slowly made his way forward, toward the materializing Gate.

"Magus! Don't do it yet!" Gaspar warned. "You don't know—"  
"Shut up! It is Schala! She is alive!" he cried, breaking out in a speedy, swift motion.

The ultimate dream of his life now lay before Magus; within feet of Lavos, he reached into the portal and touched the sleeping Schala, nearly bringing her into the Darkness Beyond Time. The beast composing the temporal extraction immediately ejected a part of its boiling shell at breakneck speed towards the reuniting couple; Magus recoiled and fell on his back as the biomass impacted the ground and erupted in blinding fire. Schala was safe, it seemed, protected by the temporal phasing of the Gate; and as Magus once again viewed her there, blocked from his access by a pile of flesh illuminated by white fire, the dreams and want began to escape him. He would not have it, however; he was prepared, and the Black Wind howled at his ears with its highest pitch and intensity. Summoning a Dark Bomb to his rear, he catapulted himself in a bullet's form through the heated air and into the airy Gate; an extension of the Time Devourer once more failed to hit him in sloth, and Magus was instantly phased within the Gate as well, shielded from further disturbance. He picked Schala up from her position, and with all his remaining strength, pushed to reverse the flow of the dimensional distortion. Her eyes opened, and Gaspar could make out the moving of Magus's lips. The two subsequently smiled; Gaspar could not begin to fathom the happiness and excitement Magus was feeling, his end achieved successfully. Though he had sacrificed his position in this world, which had served as his home, he knew that Schala was the only true 'world' to him – and that the one in which she was skewed to could not be much different than his own. Perhaps he truly would have the opportunity to return to Zeal, and do things right this time – assuming his own identity in the world, having his own fun, and seeking his own dreams; he may even settle for anonymity, resting out his days – if he did not discover immortality by then – in peace and repose. The darkness was complete for him; the Black Wind would never rise in his ears again, but a rolling stone cannot be contained. Magus would be content, whether he were sitting in a chair upon a cape, gazing into an infinite sunset, or streaking through the air dashingly. Gaspar felt happy, his fears quelled.

"You," the Time Devourer interrupted, as the Gate near him began to fade.  
"I...you have Fiona?" Gaspar asked.

Similar to Schala's appearance, a circle of spinning, azure light – this time tainted by light, crimson tones of fire – formed in front of the sage. The figure of Fiona soon came into view; Gaspar's heart fluttered within his chest, as the final rise of his dream symphony was about to occur. Thoughts of losing his mind were scattered; he was but of one composure – to rescue the crimson-haired, green-eyed, flawless lover within the dimensional extraction, whatever the cost. The figures of Magus and Schala fading out of view reaffirmed his decision. He approached and stood before the eye of the Time Devourer.

"Are you ready?" it asked.  
"Yes. Send Fiona to the End of Time, awaiting my arrival."  
"Bastard...you will have a child's mind..."  
"No!" Serge yelled.

Gaspar looked behind him, catching sight of a fiery-eyed Serge, who know stood with a dagger in his hand that had been concealed in his vest. He charged to Gaspar's side, and stared at the slow-moving eye of Lavos, fearing and hating it, yet retaining the courage to stand against it.

"I am the one you want. Let Gaspar and Fiona be. I killed you; I freed Schala. You would rather have no revenge but against me. Kill me," Serge echoed.

Gaspar stood with a slightly opened jaw.

"Good," the Time Devourer commented, summoning power at one of its remaining spikes.  
"No. You can't do this," Gaspar spoke.  
"Why not? You have a love! You have a life," Serge insisted.  
"But I am old. You have—"  
"I have nothing! My life is entirely over! My purpose has been fulfilled. I killed this bastard and was left a stupid, unknowing fool in a backwater village. I already had my time. I no longer need to live here. My greatest moments have already passed—"  
"Are you a fool, Serge? Do you forget Leena? Do you forget the repose granted to you in Arni? Have you forgotten the glory of your act? Have you ever stopped to think that every human you set eyes on in this dimension owes his or her life to you? You may not be recognized or venerated, but by the stars you have your entire life to live! You are only 20 years old, and already able to vie for the position of the strongest, most powerful fighter on this planet. You can do so much good – you can lead so many, or simply live a peaceful life of fishing and village harmony – but would you so easily lose these potentials? You have years ahead of you, to be spent however you wish. I am an old man. Fiona will live either way. Do not waste yourself," Gaspar admonished.  
"Is it..."  
"Yes. It's all right for me to die here, even in mind. Better than you dying in body as well."

Serge backed away, as the light from the Time Devourer's spire increased in intensity. Gaspar soon questioned his own comments; how – why was it truly okay for him to die there in the Darkness Beyond Time, surrendering himself to night forever. It was then that the realization dawned upon him, as a rising sun would upon a chaotic midnight – that in this world, in which mortality reigned and subjugated all, immortality could in fact be achieved. Gaspar, in his questing of total lucidity and desire for Fiona, had unknowingly, until now, allied himself with full heart and mind to the ideal of pure love. This virtue – this barely unattainable goal – _this Zeal_ – now cradled him and made him timeless; for in striving for it with every ounce of his effort, and establish it in reality, he had reached a degree of perfection in itself. There was no fear to be had, nor regret; he was one with the being of love, and though he would succumb to the darkness, he could without a single thought or mind. Just as Frog had set out one last time before dying centuries before, enwrapped by the ideal of chivalry, Gaspar too could pass in total peace and acceptance – to die and _become_.

Gaspar looked upward, as light erupted from the cracked shell of the Time Devourer, flooding his eyes and producing a euphoric feeling within his head. His thoughts now only turned to Fiona, and of the gift of life she would be able to live; the happiness she would know, and perhaps the tears she would cry at learning of his sacrifice. He failed to see the enclosure of Serge within an energy field as he was stunned by the light; enthralled within his visions, the Guru had reached a state of being content, even in this washing of his memories and skills. He thought not of the future, but of the closure he was receiving; and as he saw faded timelines swirl upward into the abyss over his head, he could not help but feel at peace with time itself. Love pervaded his spirit, and became him; he had at last evolved as a human being into an essence of his choice, at last freed from the rigors and aimlessness of dabbling at the End of Time, or the purposelessness of life after the quests of Crono. He bent downward, and peered at Fiona's face; it slowly accelerated from a frozen state to the flow of time present in the Darkness Beyond Time – it was the expression he had seen when he disappeared through the dimensional distortion back to his own world. Fiona would never die, nor suffer in the crumbling, flawed dimension she came from. He met eyes with her at last, before the light emitting from Lavos overtook his visual senses entirely. Zeal, Magus, Frog – they all slipped away, as Gaspar retreated in intellect to the one thought of love, failing to see a chained scythe emerge from the portal of Magus and Schala before it closed – embedding itself within the Time Devourer's eye.

And the Guru fell unconscious, on an airy bed of dreams.

The swirls and mists took to him, as they had always done, and bathed his tired body in cool, breezy sensations. With closed eyes, he took in their smells, and shifted on an unknown surface. The scenery was dark, but strangely warm; a single source of light radiated the area with tender glow. Regaining his senses, the old man struggled on his feet, and rubbed his eyes; the act of simple movement felt somewhat foreign to him, but he quickly mastered it. At last, the desolate view was clear.

"Th, this is...Hey. Nothing here...This must be......the End of Time..."

Two startling sounds were heard, and three figures joined him from behind. There was a blue haired boy, strong and slender in form; with him was a beautiful, crimson-haired woman, with green eyes; lastly, a grinning Nu stood behind them in turn. The Guru turned to these three.

"Oh, sorry. So it's already occupied? I'll be on my way," he commented.  
"Wait...Gaspar," Serge spoke.  
"Yes, you know my name?"

Serge grinned and turned to Fiona.

"Well, yes. Does this feel like déjà vu to you, Gaspar?"  
"Well...for some odd reason – and I cannot place it – I do feel that I have met each of you before, but this is probably a fluke of my coming here."  
"What are the feelings, sage?" Spekkio asked, half smiling.  
"Well, you all seem to be friends. Bah, is there a purpose to all this? Are you too from the Ocean Palace?" he asked.  
"Gaspar," Fiona softly uttered, her voice as silk.

She sauntered over to him, and hugged him. With a puzzled look on his face, Gaspar returned the sign of affection.

"Eh, guys. Look's like the old bugger did zap him a bit; a coincidence that he regressed to the Ocean Palace incident," Spekkio laughed.  
"Hah. It's good to see him up, though," Serge responded.  
"What is this? Who are you gentleman, and you?" Gaspar asked.  
"It'll come back to you, Gaspar. You have a holey memory at the moment, but we'll work on it," Serge grinned.  
"Yeah, I can help with that," Spekkio complemented.

Again, Fiona gazed into Gaspar's eyes, and noticed what seemed to be a wave of fire flash over them. It was perhaps the beginning of a memory – the unlocking of what Lavos had repressed in his attempt at revenge, an effort squelched by Magus – or it may have been a coincidental slip of admiration for Fiona's beauty. Regardless, he had returned; though most of his passions lay buried, they would soon be granted to him once more upon the labor of his friends. None could estimate the joy he would feel upon the dawn of full remembrance; the love he would profess for Fiona, and his friends, and the care he would feel for Magus. For now, Gaspar had earned a temporary rest from his adventures, having committed all his being to a dream and reaching it. He deserved to forget his troubles and trepidation for a month, and observe the natural beauty of the world, as he had thought of it before – for if Fiona were at his side, there would be naught to fear, or worry over; he could freely indulge in the warm and cool colors of the world. He had met death on a mere street, and brushed shoulders; however, giving fully to the ideal of perfect love, he was saved and immortalized. Serge, too would find his path, and walk on earth, water and fire to reach his goal, having finally come to terms with his immense passions and memories of his adventure. Like Serge, Gaspar could now gaze and have leisure without fearing the regret. He had radically dreamed, and had pursued his ideal with such furor and determination that heaven had been granted.

Spekkio, Serge, and Fiona all smiled warmly at the Guru, and across the dimensions, Magus too knew that his now-greatest companion in his life and dreams could rest. Perhaps Gaspar knew too – for as he appeared befuddled, and sat upon his work chair at the End of Time, he closed his eyes and beamed. And the mists – the little orbs of light that surrounded where Gates once shone, and the light from the lamppost he had carefully installed – wrapped around him, and cradled him to rest.

Author's Notes

This concludes my most sincere fictional tribute to the Chrono series. I hope I've illuminated Gaspar beyond the framework Trigger set out, and also pray that I've depicted Magus true to character, and perhaps expanded him. The same goes for Serge; he can now continue his life with a full knowledge of who he is. Commentary is very much appreciated; I hope you've had a blast reading and have listened to the themes of humanism, free will, dreaming, and becoming one with your ideals. Thanks again.

By the way, music greatly aided in the writing of this piece.

The Veneration of Frog

Chillin' with Sonic by Sefiros

Winds from Paradise, Version 2 by Rellik

'Requiem for a Green Revolution' by Scott Peeples

Journey to the Sea of Eden, the End of Time

'Green Amnesia' by Disco Dan

Confrontation with Lavos

'Into a Time of Darkness' by Yasunori Mitsuda


	4. IV Epilogue The Beautiful, Starlight Tr...

It was the night of a full moon; lunar auras descended in nightly grace from the sparkled heavens, traveling swiftly over a land whose viridian expanses swayed dashingly beneath the sky's evening veil. The trees danced in their timeless stretch upward to the eterne, while far on the horizon, the light of settlements could be seen proudly shining in revelry on this fine, breezy night, as their inhabitants were fully awake and in cheer. The mountains too were alive – for they reflectively glowed with the emanations upward, returning the silvery rays in a milky ascension. The primitive, dusty roads were calmed, and now served as the carriage of dreamers, who took to the countryside to adore the smiling hills and illuminated flora in the gleam of the moon. Steadfast as its beauty, two travelers sauntered beneath the warm starlight, adorned in exquisite robes whose azure make increased the glory of the firmament's sheen. The man, whose heart was aflame with deep burning coals that would never experience extinguishment, openly grinned at the corners of his mouth, for the first time unabashed in displaying a true joy to any that looked upon him. The woman, at his side, and sweetly immersed in the luminescence of the nightfall, too smiled, her only worry in the world now placed to rest with the coming of the twilight – for she was free to release her mind's cares to the soft wind that covered and bathed the earth. They both gazed far ahead, as they descended a mountain pass whose easiness of passage spread before them, and view and heard music coming from the approaching village. The journey would take repose there, for the townsfolk within could be seen engaging in celebration – over which event, no one knew, or cared, for it was done in the sake of life, and beauty, held on the most magical of nights.

As the spirits of the sojourners waxed full and bright, they entered the gates, and were greeted with open canisters of wine and enlivening drink, but more so with glances of doubtless acceptance and encouragement to enjoy the occasion. Each side street poured happy villagers, whose faith and positive hearts flowed in excess to the two visitors; each man, woman, and child had the sparkle of the distant moon in his or her eye, for its blooming had yielded the handsomeness of the scene – a profound, deep beauty, far removed from the notion of a fickle prettiness, that permeated the souls of all and uplifted them to join the stars in jovial harmony. Music, too, hovered above the engaging fray, singing naught tunes of idle enjoyment by shallow bumpkins, but ancient tunes eked by the classics on lyres whose glimmer reflected the same heavenly object. Together, the sweet smell of baked confections, whose aromas were cradled by the breeze and caressed the senses of their partakers, the idyllic melodies emitting from musicians who had become one with the essences of joy, and the sight of glowing happiness and saturnalia uplifted the travelers to the heights of their own euphoria – for as the folk of this village had reached for, and been met with a hand from, the boundless world of the elements, the journeyers too had recently reached to each other and been reunited, reaffirming a bond of dear care and love that had been lost for literal eons. The meeting had sparked aflame the twinkles of the man's eyes, and allowed him to weep for the first time in the last two decades of his life, while it had given the woman a new hope and strength – for no longer was she imprisoned – by her royalty, by her subjects, or by fate itself. The sky had spread itself before the two, as their destinies were free to soar, with paths composed and controlled by their own doing.

Together, they reached the square, and as the elated villagers beamed and clapped, they slowly danced to a promising song that reached across the dimensions. Their movements were graceful, of an arrangement as wondrous and perfect as the arrangement of the glace luminaries in the sky; the foreign nature of the emotions and love the man had felt initially were now close to him – for they were of true happiness and joy, unable to be doubted by anyone, and forever in their residency within his heart. She, too, felt the presence of these warm, ever-burning feelings within her bosom, for reality had at last became a dream; no longer would she seek solace in passing vagaries and fantasies, as the waking world had become as rosy and adoring as the airy demesnes left behind. And as an overjoyed dancer fell down beside them and laughed hysterically at his accidental misstep, the two travelers laughed with him – chuckling in pure innocence and fun, untainted by ridicule or darker satire, for these concepts were naught, fodder scattered in the wake of a dream's realization – for all dreams, too, are wishful of existence, and none in that mirthful and passionate square could doubt that dreams were among them, exuberantly dancing alongside.

And as they made their stay in the blissful town, the man noticed a star brighter than all others, freely relishing the status of crown jewel of the night empyrean sublime. A hint of wonderment displayed on his face, which had been released from its traveling hood forever, fully revealing his flawless stretch of regal, blue and purple hair, and the handsome features that could woo even the hardest of hearts – indeed, a thought came; he wondered, with a knowing smile, if the old man was experiencing the ecstasy he had come to known. Somehow, he knew, for the feelings within told him that even across the dimensions, atop the timeless hourglass that transcended all aeons, he was happy – unshakably full of joy, as the man was on this glorious night. A tug came on his smooth robe, and he turned to rejoin the festivities with his sister, further releasing himself into the infinite joy and love of dreams.

Sleep well, Magus, Schala, Gaspar, Fiona, and Serge. Your dreams and destinies are your own!


End file.
